The Teyrn's Daughter and the King's Son
by Eve Hawke
Summary: Duty was all that remained after Lyra Cousland's family was murdered by the treacherous Arl Howe. But that duty would lead her to the man she was meant for, and a love that would be sung throughout the ages. Blood, language, intimacy. Some AU. COMPLETE but in rewrites; chapters replaced as they are edited. Follow for updates! Cover art by the amazing Ekocentric!
1. Prologue

_Hello! :-D_

_**A quick note - **this story is currently undergoing revisions, with the amazing help of my dear friend Wintryone, who is acting as editor and beta all in one. If you have not read her fics about Mari and Fenris (not to mention her collection of one-shots and other awesomes!) I highly recommend you do so! But in the meantime, know that I am very blessed and grateful to have her stellar help in this monster of a project. :-D_

_**I am replacing the old chapters with the new as they are completed, **and if this is your first read-thru, you may notice some discontinuities, like chapter numbers going wonky. Please disregard them, all will be cleaned up eventually. If you enjoy the story,** please 'follow' to find out when all is complete.** I will release one final chapter at that time. :-)_

_Enjoy, and** don't forget to review**! *hugs*_

* * *

><p><strong>PROLOGUE<strong>

_Duty..._

_A Cousland always does her duty._

The early spring wind blew through the darkening sky, whipping the skeletal branches of the few trees that dotted the landscape. Somewhere in the Ferelden Bannorn, south of Highever but north of Ostagar, Lyra Cousland huddled before a crackling fire, unseeing eyes staring into the flames.

Bone weary and aching with grief, she shivered as the night's chill seeped through her worn leather armor. The headache she'd borne for days raged on as her mind continually drifted back to Highever; to the life that had been ripped from her, to the people she'd loved. Visions of their violent deaths prowled through her mind, promising nightmares that would jolt her awake, shaking with fear.

The memory of little Oren skulked through her thoughts, and she clamped her eyes shut, a whimper choking past her tight guard. Grisly pictures danced through her mind; her father, run through and left to die in the larder, her mother nocking an arrow, fierce determination coloring every movement, the sharp_ thud_ of the trap door closing her away from her doomed parents.

Guilt washed over her in shivering waves. She'd run. Left her mother to her blood-soaked fate, left her father to sink into oblivion. She could have stayed, could have fought...

_and died with them? _a traitorous voice whispered.

_It was my place,_ she shot back.

"You may find your brother at Ostagar." Apparently, Duncan had been speaking the whole time. His voice was dry and gentle, but how it grated.

Gritting her teeth, Lyra focused her concentration inward, praying for the control not to jam her hands over her ears and start screaming.

"Your parents may be gone, but we will make a full report to King Cailan, and justice _will _be served. In the meantime, your duty as a Grey Warden awaits."

His eyes were kind but stern, and she dropped her gaze to the ground, swallowing the anger that churned the pit of her stomach. Simple enough to say kindly, comforting things. Easy to promise vengeance, to advise patience, to spout meaningless platitudes.

He knew _nothing_ of her pain_._

Duncan offered her a plate, but she shook her head, stomach roiling in protest. Food would only make her ill.

"You should eat. We have far to go-"

"I cannot, Duncan. Please..." Her voice was rough, a dark shadow of itself. Little wonder, she'd barely spoken in days.

Something must have told him exactly how little she wanted food, for a moment later the bread and jerky was rolled into a leather sack.

Kestrel whined beneath her hand. His bulk was warm and inviting, and she let the tears fall as her arms stole around him. The dog was all she had left of her old life; everything else was burning, miles away in the north. Shared anguish drew them close, heartache the common thread that bound them tighter than ever. A rough tongue lapped at her cheek, and she screwed her eyes shut as she dug fingers deep into his russet fur.

A week ago, life had been normal, beautiful. She'd been the younger daughter of a teyrn, an aunt, a friend. Tonight she was an orphan. The world had gone gray, every drop of color leached away by tragedy. _Oddly appropriate_, her rebellious mind snarked. _What better color for a future Grey Warden?_

This was an eventuality she never could have envisioned; traveling with Ferelden's senior Grey Warden, on her way to Ostagar to be initiated into the infamous order of protectors. Her parents would never have allowed it, but they had been taken from her, murdered by Arl Rendon Howe. She was the last surviving Cousland. Or, nearly the last.

She swallowed her tears, thoughts of her older brother lifting her heart. _Fergus..._

Her brother had gone with the army, and thus escaped Howe's dastardly plan. There was a chance he was still breathing.

_A chance, but not a great one,_ she thought.

Howe _must_ have sent assassins after Fergus. _There could have been one slipped in with the soldiers, for Maker's sake_. What good would it do the traitorous arl to leave the eldest male heir alive? _Not much_, she thought, anger steeling her spine. Fergus was almost certainly dead, and it was unrealistic to chase hope. If he _was_ at Ostagar, as Duncan said... but her sharp mind denied the possibility, leaping ahead to embrace the bleakest possible outcome.

Kestrel whined and cuddled into her, and a new freshet of tears coursed down her cheeks. A mourning howl keened from his throat, and it was only the choking feeling in her airway that prevented her from wailing her grief along with him.


	2. Home at Highever

**Chapter 1  
><strong>****Home at Highever******  
><strong>

To say Lyra was displeased would be an understatement.

Hard leather boots rang against the marbled stone as the youngest Cousland marched through Castle Highever. Destination: Father's study. Servants scurried out of her way as she stalked the hallways, dark blue eyes telegraphing her disagreeable mood. The beautiful, unexpectedly warm day did little to cheer her now, though she'd been savoring the weather before she'd heard the news. Anyone could see that it was battle she was heading into, with her dark hair tied into a knot at the nape of her neck, leather and chain jingling and creaking, and twin daggers slid into the sheaths set against her shoulders. It was true that she'd _actually_ been preparing to go out and spar with Fergus, but that wasn't the point. A good warrior improvised.

Determination drove her feet forward, annoyance scripting out the words she would use. Her father was days from leaving Highever for the battle at Ostagar, taking her older brother Fergus and most of the army. Word had just reached her that she, on the other hand, would be remaining at the castle. Why? Because she was _female_.

_Not true_, her all-too-reasonable conscience echoed. _It's because you're the one Father trusts to look after Highever._

_Shut up_, she returned. _This works much better if I'm being oppressed_.

Round the corner, and the door to Father's study stood before her. Not bothering to knock, Lyra pushed it open and stood before him, arms crossed, chin lifted in defiance.

Bryce Cousland raised his head from the vellum scrolls he was reading, blinking in surprise to see his daughter in his study at this time of day. For a moment nothing was said as they stared each other down. Eventually the teyrn stood, taking the opportunity to stretch his lanky frame. His face did not change, but a telltale twitch at the corner of his mouth told Lyra he already knew why she was there.

He'd gone almost entirely gray in recent years and was now sporting a trim goatee; a new development since a recent trip to Denerim. Pale blue eyes surveyed her, a cool mask of command dropping over his features to hide his brief moment of amusement. Lyra steeled herself, preparing for the onslaught.

"Yes?" With a single word, the debate was begun.

Lyra narrowed her eyes, calm strategy replacing her normally hot temper."You mean to leave me, the best warrior you have, in Highever?" An excellent opening argument, in her opinion.

"To guard my most precious treasures. Yes," he replied.

Ouch. A telling blow. Thrumming fingers on her arm, she shifted tactics, moving into secondary reasoning. "The battle will not _be_ here. Your 'precious treasures' can certainly be tended by lesser men-"

"All of whom are coming with me. You'll oversee a token force of well-trained guards. I'll not leave your mother and Highever Castle without adequate protection."

Logic flew out the window as she resorted to shouting. "Father, I'm not a child! I want to fight! I'm better than Ser Gilmore, better than Fergus - you know this! Why else have I been training? I am not a weak female who needs protecting-"

The tantrum only served to dissolve her father's final vestige of control, and he began to laugh at his daughter's fury. Lyra's mouth snapped shut, a stubborn glare darkening her face.

Bryce rounded the desk to place his hands on her upper arms. "Pup, I know your skill - you outdo your brother and all of my knights! It isn't your sex that determines my decision. Your mother asked that you stay. She doesn't like the thought of both our children going off to war, and to be plain, neither do I. There aren't so many Couslands that I would knowingly endanger both of you. One of you _must_ stay here, and between you and me, it's your sensible head that I trust to care for Highever while I am gone. Maker knows I have been training your brother in statecraft since he was old enough to walk... but there it is. You are my choice. Highever needs competence, and that is you, my girl."

Lyra knew her father was right, had known before she stormed into his study, but it didn't lessen her frustration. She uncrossed her arms in defeat, mouth twisting. If she was going to concede, she wanted to get something out of it. "Will you tell Mother, at least, that I absolutely refuse to wear that green dress she had made? It makes me look like a houseplant."

Bryce chuckled. "I will do so. But what will you wear to hear the audiences, then? Not your leathers, I hope!"

Lyra glanced down. The sturdy leather armor conformed to her slender body like a glove. Patched, stretched and cracked, but so well-worn and broken in that it barely creaked with her weight as she shifted. There was nothing more comfortable, and very little could get her out of it. "And why not? Shouldn't our people see that I am ready to take on anything that comes our way?"

"Absolutely not." Eleanor Cousland marched into the room, a general taking control of a battle. "You may not like that green dress, but it was made from a pattern brought all the way from Orlais. It is the height of fashion, and Lady Miranda says that her daughters are enraptured with the style."

"Makes sense, because they're chits," Lyra muttered.

"Tone, young lady. If you won't wear the green dress, then you can wear the blue one – the one that your father brought back from Denerim," Eleanor continued.

Giving a much put-upon sigh, Lyra nodded, knowing better than to cross swords with her mother. It seemed she'd be wearing skirts whether she liked it or not, at least for now.

Fergus poked his head into the room. "Is Lyra in here? There you are, sister! We're waiting for you on the field. Oren is begging for a show, and Ser Gilmore wants to match the winner."

"I'll meet you outside, Fergus." She turned back to her parents. "May I have your leave to go, Mother?"

"How much practice do you need, child? You were out this morning, already-"

"Mother!" Lyra wailed.

"Fine, go then. We'll continue this conversation at dinner. I have news you may find interesting."

Lyra raised a suspicious eyebrow at this, but then quickly kissed her parents and hurried outside, her misgivings over being left behind relegated to the backburner for now.

.oOo.

Bryce watched the exchange between his wife and daughter with a fond smile. The resemblance between the two women in his life never failed to amaze him.

Lyra was tall for a girl, but then, so was her mother. One grey as a dove, the other like deep burnished wood, but both had oval faces that featured wide, expressive blue eyes._Whoever said that the eyes were the gateway to the soul must have met my girls,_ Bryce mused. Those eyes often flashed with impatience or quick intelligence, but could just as easily show humor, love, and quiet happiness. Fine, dark eyebrows curved over Lyra's tanned forehead, and a rather wide nose sat above full, rosy lips. Eleanor had agonized over her daughter's nose, knowing just how much her own had irked her, but Bryce saw nothing wrong with it. It lent personality to both of their faces, and he loved it as part of what made them unique.

But for a few minute differences, the two might have been twins were it not for their ages. Both women were slender and athletically built, but while Lyra was skilled in knife work, Eleanor had been considered one of the best archers of her generation. It made for slight differences in their musculature; Lyra was more toned, while Eleanor was wiry. But either way, both women were striking, and Bryce considered himself a very lucky man.

After accepting Lyra's kiss, he moved to the sideboard, pouring two small glasses of brandy.

His wife took the proffered cup and sat on a carved bench, indulging in a small sip. "She'll be twenty next week, Bryce. That's more than old enough to be married. I already had a son when I was her age," Eleanor fretted.

"Give her time. I want her to have a love match. We didn't force Fergus into a marriage, and Lyra is more than intelligent enough to choose her own husband." Bryce sat, easing Eleanor's hand into his own to keep her from chewing her nails. She shot him a rueful glance, her penchant for nervous gestures going unsatisfied. "Eleanor, what's the rush? You grow more worried every day. Are you truly so concerned about our daughter's marriageability?"

Eleanor sighed. "Lyra is a Cousland. She's a force to be reckoned with; deadly with her daggers, and smart as a whip. She _should_ marry a prince, but Ferelden only had one, and she was far too young, anyway. But that isn't my point." Eleanor swirled her drink. "With her skill at arms and her willful attitude, she'll be lucky to find _any_husband, much less one who deserves her. She's already chased off four suitors since Satinalia." Eleanor contemplated the cup, then took a much larger sip than she might have had she not been so distressed.

"Technically, she didn't chase them off. They left after realizing she could out-do them with her blades."

"And you don't think this is a problem?" Eleanor demanded. "She's setting herself up to be alone forever! What man wants a woman who can carve him up with a dagger?"

"You're an archer, Eleanor-"

"Did I ever challenge you to a contest?" Eleanor pointed out, drawing a sigh from Bryce. "The only men she speaks to with any regularity are your household knights, or the servants. I _do_ wish she would give Thomas Howe a chance."

"You know why she won't." Bryce set his drink on a side table while his wife continued her speech, her words tumbling forth with the doggedness of a trained mabari hound.

"Rendon grows more insistent by the day. I can't keep putting him off, Bryce. First it was Nathaniel, then Delilah, and now Thomas. He seems bound and determined to join his family to ours. Maker forbid anything should happen to you – I rather think he would come knocking at _my_door!"

"Should I be concerned? Do you plan on running away with dashing Arl Howe?" Bryce drew his wife's hand into his own and pressed a kiss to the back of it, his eyes sparkling.

Eleanor sniffed, mouth drawing upward into an unattractive squinch. "Now that you mention it, I understand why Lyra has no desire to marry Thomas. He's just like Rendon, isn't he?"

Bryce chuckled. One hand reached out to tuck a lock of soft gray hair behind his wife's ear. "You know, Lyra is just like the woman I fell in love with," he observed. "Same determination, same temper. But your strength was with a bow, not daggers. You had the most beautiful hair I'd ever seen, and dark blue eyes that I felt like I could drown in."

Eleanor patted her silver hair with a faint smile. "It's rather lost some of its coloring, hasn't it?"

"But your eyes are as deep as ever, and your beauty is still without compare." Bryce smiled at his bride of twenty-seven years. "Don't worry about Lyra. She'll find someone." Circling his wife's shoulders with one arm, he tugged her close and grazed her forehead with his lips.

Eleanor cuddled into him, at ease in his embrace. After so many years, they fit together like two well-worn puzzle pieces. From the window came faint laughter, accompanied by the clash of swordplay and Oren's encouraging cheers. It was a fitting accompaniment to the quiet, affectionate mood that surrounded them.

.oOo.

There was just enough time for a quick sponge bath the following morning before Lyra dressed for breakfast. Skin damp, her nimble fingers flipped through the numerous linen shirts and homespun breeches to pause at the few dresses she owned. She fingered the embroidery of the hated green dress, then pulled the blue one over her shoulders instead and wriggled it into place. With luck, it would please her mother. After last night's shouting match at the dinner table over her current unmarried state, guilt had carved an uncomfortable hollow in her stomach.

_It isn't as if Mother is_trying_to be difficult,_she thought as she allowed her mother's maidservant to plait her hair. Styled like this, it hung in a thick chestnut rope all the way to her waist. Usually she wore it in two braids bound to the back of her head, but that was for the convenience of training, to conform to the shape of a helmet. Mother expected differently at table.

Her concessions to traditional feminine behavior finished, she walked decorously down the hall to the dining room and slipped into her chair beside Oren. Her father looked pleased, and Fergus gave a low whistle. Her mother arrived a moment later, and the way her eyes lit with pleasure made every bit of effort worth it.

"So Lyra. What's the occasion?"

"Just breakfast, Fergus."

Oren's small hand smoothed the fabric of her dress, an admiring look filling his bright, curious eyes. "I like your dress, Auntie Lyra. You should always wear dresses - you look like a real girl this way."

Lyra chuckled at her small nephew and stole his hand up to her mouth to kiss it, then pressed its warm softness to her cheek. He was so small yet, and such a love.

"I agree with Oren, sister - you do yourself an injustice, running through the castle dressed as a boy," Oriana commented. "You look lovely this morning. You really should wear skirts more often."

"Dresses are for special occasions, and sometimes just for fun." Lyra grinned at Oren and poked him in the side. A high-pitched giggle burst from his lips, and he wriggled away from her twitching fingers. _He'll look just like Fergus one day,_ Lyra thought. Oren wasn't big for his age, but she had a feeling a growth spurt was upon him. Always shooting up like a weed when the mood struck. He'd been like that since he was born, and it seemed as if the time was about right for him to outgrow his clothing again.

Fergus chuckled. "She isn't that much like a boy. I don't see any other boys with hair like hers."

"Well, with it piled under that helmet it's difficult to tell, and in her armor she's a string bean. Sister, will you let me style your hair sometime? The new fashion from Denerim is a short 'do, with a braid to the side..."

Lyra's eyes widened in horror. "Cut my hair? You can't be serious!" Hands flew to grip the braid trailing down her back, smoothing their way along its reassuring length.

Oriana rolled her eyes as she patted her own sleek, short bob. "I don't see why you object so much. It isn't as if you do anything with it but braid it." Always demure and proper to a fault, Oriana straightened her gown, non-existent wrinkles chased away by her refined hands.

Lyra's sister-in-law was so... feminine. Small, soft hands, small, rounded frame, small, dainty nose. Lyra sniffed, thoughts of her own generous nose making an unwelcome appearance in her mind. Whereas Lyra was tall, Oriana was petite. Whereas Lyra was muscular, Oriana was delicate.

_Oriana is what men want,_Lyra thought. _I'm nothing more than a chance to rise politically._ She shoved the unpleasant thought from her mind and dunked a spoon into the butter dish, smearing a piece of toast for Oren.

"When father brings me a sward, will you teach me to use it, Auntie?" Oren asked.

Lyra quirked an eyebrow, glancing at Fergus to see his reaction.

Her brother burst out laughing, one hand curving around a mug of tea. "That's 'sword', Oren! And don't you want me to teach you?"

Lyra handed her nephew his toast and reached for her juice. Oren's beatific face shone like the very sun as he took his first bite, talking with his mouth full. "No, I want Auntie Lyra to teach me. She always knocks you over, Da!"

Lyra's juice cup connected with the table, thudding loudly as she nearly dropped it in her mirth. A snorting laugh clawed its way from her throat, and she rushed the orange juice down before she could spit it over the tablecloth. Oren began giggling as well, enjoying the spectacle his aunt was making as she lost further control.

"Lyra, really," Eleanor said, but the corners of her lips were sliding upward, and Bryce's blue eyes sparkled.

"Damned kid," Fergus muttered as he sipped from his mug, fooling no one. He was infernally proud of Oren, and if questioned, would have happily admitted that his son was right. Lyra _was_better than him. After the thousands of hours she had poured into training, she had a right to be, and if Oren could tell then it only meant his son was incredibly intelligent for his age.

Bryce cleared his throat. "Oren, enough for now. Let us say the blessing, and then perhaps we will have some exciting news."

"What news?" Oren chirped, but Lyra shushed him and clasped his hand, joining her other hand to her mother's. Faces tilted down, eyes closed, and Bryce's steady voice implored the Maker to bless their meal.

"Now?" Oren begged when Bryce had finished, but Lyra began cutting his ham for him, telling him to wait. Papa would tell the news when he was ready, and until then, Oren needed to eat like a good boy.

Eventually, Bryce gave in and admitted that they were expecting a special guest, and Oren allowed Lyra to build him a ham and egg sandwich. As they ate, Eleanor told them about the two letters she'd received earlier that week, both from young men from excellent noble families.

"It seems to me that it would be no bad thing for you to meet these young men, Lyra," Eleanor wheedled. "They are both about your age."

Lyra set her napkin against her lips, inwardly cringing at what 'about your age' might mean in real terms. "Mother, I'll meet these young men, but-"

The door swung open and admitted a serving girl, effectively ending Lyra's response. "Teyrn Cousland, an important visitor has arrived. Duncan, of the Grey Wardens."

"Our visitor, Oren! Excuse me, please." Bryce stood, dropping his napkin into his chair behind him. He hurried out, leaving his family staring in his wake.

After a moment of silence, Lyra crumpled her own napkin beside her plate. "I'm done." Pushing her chair away from the table, she stood to hurry from the room, but Eleanor caught her hand as she passed.

"Lyra, you've barely touched your food. You spent more time on Oren's plate than on your own."

"I ate a whole egg, Mother. I'm fine. I'll get a snack from the kitchens later if I need something." The truth was, food had never been a driving force for Lyra. She ate what was handy, no matter how dainty or tempting, and stopped when she was full, which was usually soon after starting. It just seemed that her body was extremely efficient about how much it needed.

Eleanor's worried eyes searched her daughter's face for another moment before she sighed and nodded, allowing Lyra to escape. Heart lifting, Lyra sped away, calling back a thank you and a promise to be in later.

Darting down the long hall to her room, Lyra loosened the stays of her dress as she went, sliding the garment down her arms almost before she was through her door. Into the chair it went - too little time to hang it up properly. Her leather armor all but flew onto her body, buckles and laces strapped tight. The cascading braid was wrapped around her head and secured with a few pins. Her blades twirled into place over her shoulders, sliding home with a satisfying snick and the comforting weight of steel.

A peek into the reflecting glass, and she was out the door again.

If a Grey Warden was here in Highever, it could only mean he was recruiting, which meant he'd be observing on the practice field. With a touch of luck, she could see this Grey Warden for herself.


	3. To Smell A Rat

**Chapter 2  
>To Smell A Rat<strong>

She was disappointed, however. The morning passed in the normal way, with nothing more interesting on the field than Kestrel and a score of her father's knights. They'd learned to take orders from Lyra as easily as her father or Fergus, and so she took them through their paces, running the training exercises with them, then sparring round-robin style. Continued glances over her shoulder at the low fence revealed nothing and no one she wasn't already familiar with.

By the time the noon hour approached she was sweating freely, her hair damp and matted when her father summoned her to his parlor. At last! And she was as smelly as a pig. What had made her put herself through such an intense workout? Damning herself for acting a fool, she rushed back to her room and sponged off, wishing for a bit of the rose-water that Oriana kept in her room.

As she cleaned up, she wondered at her reaction. Was she a fighter, or wasn't she? Did a warrior concern themselves with such trivial things as body odor? Shouldn't the Warden appreciate a commanding female, who could match twelve men nearly twice her size in the fighting ring?

It all sounded fine, but in the end Lyra waffled and snuck into Oriana's room. _I may not be girly, but I don't want to smell like a horse_, she thought_._ A dab here and there, and then her feet carried her to the parlor where her father waited. Knocking, she eased the door open and slipped into the room, her eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dim firelight.

Her father's eyes brightened upon seeing her, one hand extending in welcome. "Pup, this is Duncan, Commander of Ferelden's Grey Wardens. Duncan, may I present my daughter, Lyra Cousland."

Duncan inclined his head, offering her a firm handshake. Lyra smiled. She liked that - no kissing of her fingertips, just a friendly greeting between equals. If only more men treated her this way.

The Warden was not as tall as her father, but seemed quite solidly built. His armor was well-made and fantastic to behold; white and silver, with whorling designs in copper and bronze. She'd never seen the like. Was this the uniform of the Wardens, or simply his own personal style? A blade hung on his back, the hilt displayed over his right shoulder, nestled comfortably behind a large, squared shield. His face was swarthy, tanned by sun and wind, but also naturally dark – a native of Rivain, perhaps? His hair was a deeper shade than her own and receding slightly, but worn in a curving ponytail at the nape of his neck. Dark eyes sparkled over a strong, hooked nose, and red lips smiled from the recesses of a neatly trimmed beard. He turned his head to speak to her father, and her eyes widened at the sight of the gold earring that hung from one ear.

She'd missed Duncan's words during her inspection of his person, but her mother's training took over as she smiled widely. "Welcome to Highever, Ser Warden. Have you come in search of recruits?" Lyra asked, eager for the answer.

Duncan's head dipped, seeming unbothered by her direct query. "Yes, indeed. The Wardens are sorely in need of talented individuals to fill our ranks. I am here to test Ser Gilmore, but perhaps someone else should be brought to my attention as well. Can you recommend anyone?" His eyes twinkled, and her breath caught. Could he be referring to… herself?

Not that she could go, although had she but the _chance_…

"There are many knights here who would fit your needs, I am certain. Highever is proud to be able to offer competent fighters to the Grey Wardens." There, pretty enough, and diplomatic to boot. _Were my duty not to Highever, I'd be jumping up and down,_she thought. _But Mother would never allow it. She'll see me married first, Maker help us both._

The doors swung wide, banging loudly against the wall. Lyra started at the sound, and Bryce looked over in irritation as Arl Rendon Howe burst into the room.

"Teyrn Cousland, I-" Howe cut himself off, realization of his faux pas flooding his features. "Forgive me, Bryce. I had no idea you were occupied. Shall I return later...?" His tone was apologetic, but his eyes were expectant, as though he fully expected to be invited to join them.

Lyra ground her teeth at the intrusion. Old friend or not, she'd never liked Rendon Howe _or_ his children. _Pompous ass_, she thought. T_here's no way he wasn't aware of this meeting. He_wanted_to be here. But what interest could he have in Duncan's visit?_

"Rendon, my friend. Enter and be welcome. Allow me to present Duncan of the Grey Wardens. I was just introducing him to my daughter." Bryce's tone was friendly, but the slant of his eyes showed his true feelings at being interrupted.

As always, Howe was immaculate. Fine clothing, neatly trimmed hair, clean-shaven jawline. Appearances meant much to this one, and reputation was tantamount. _His sons are just like him_,_jockeying for position_ Lyra thought, her mouth twisting. In truth, she'd never gotten to know the elder brother well. Nathaniel Howe, eight years her senior, had been sent to the Free Marches when she was thirteen. But Thomas... Thomas Howe was a plague, as far as she was concerned.

Howe meandered forward, a frown of displeasure skittering across his face. "I apologize, ser, I had no idea Highever was expecting such an esteemed guest. I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage."

_What drivel_, Lyra thought. _But two can play at that game_. "Duncan is here recruiting for the Wardens, Arl Howe. Have you brought Thomas? I'm sure he would be eager to test his sword," Lyra spoke up brightly. _Let the old goat try that on for size. As if he would ever give up his children to a cause greater than himself._

Howe smiled, an amused contortion of his lips. He thought her cute, clearly, and her fists balled up in fury. "No, my dear, my family is back in Amaranthine. Although perhaps I should bring Thomas with me next time. He speaks highly of you." Howe's voice was too smooth. "In fact, I've been meaning to speak with you, Bryce. Regarding Thomas... and your daughter."

Lyra felt her face go alternately hot and cold. "What about, sir?" she said lightly, feigning ignorance as her mind raced. She knew exactly what he referenced, but nothing could make her say it.

Arl Howe chuckled. "My son thinks so well of you, my dear. Surely you know what I reference. Come now, Bryce. We've been friends for many years, after all. What could be more natural than the joining of a Howe and a Cousland?"

Heart racing like a frightened bird, Lyra took an involuntary step backward. The idea that had been danced around for years was finally on the table, as appetizing as day-old fish. Since childhood, Thomas Howe had tortured her, teased her, and gotten her in trouble. More tears had been spilled on her mother's shoulder over him than she cared to admit. At first, Eleanor had tried to reassure her – sometimes, boys acted like that when they wished to gain a girl's attention. Perhaps if she was kind to him… horrible thought! Kind to the boy who had dipped her braid in a tar-barrel? To the teenager who had locked her out of her own room, dripping wet and freezing in the middle of the night, clothed in nothing but her shift? The man who had allowed his hands to wander into uninvited territory when he'd trapped her into a waltz last Satinalia? His foul groping was something she was still trying to scrub from her memory.

Perhaps she was being cruel. He obviously cared for her. But years of torment at his hands had ensured she could never come to return it, no matter what he might do.

Bryce's flickering glance spoke volumes, and her body turned to jelly with relief at his next words.

"Rendon, as much as you and I might like that idea, I'm sorry to say I cannot speak for my daughter's wishes. If Thomas wishes to court her, I cannot imagine that she would refuse him the opportunity to win her hand... but I cannot make arrangements on her behalf."

Howe's face shifted, hardening into tight-lipped resolution. Lyra hardly noticed, though; she was so wrapped in relief at her father's pronouncement.

"But arrangements of any kind will have to wait until we return from Ostagar," he continued. "We march tomorrow, isn't that correct?"

"Actually, Bryce, that is the reason I arrived in such a state," Howe pulled a roll of vellum from his vest. "I've just been informed that my armies are delayed. I know how much the king wishes you to be there, so I would advise you to send your armies on ahead, and we will be only a day or two behind you."

"I'll send Fergus ahead with the army, then, and I shall wait here with you. I'd be glad of another day with my wife and daughter, and I shall be able to see how Duncan's choice plays out." Bryce shifted his gaze to the Warden. "I can recommend several young men, but Ser Gilmore is my top choice. Is there anyone else you wish to see?"

"In truth, Teyrn Cousland, your daughter has been brought to my attention," Duncan said, his words making her heart jump. "I've heard of her triumphs in the tournaments, and I find myself curious."

Lyra's mouth went dry. The Grey Wardens were heroes of legend, and the thought of actually joining their ranks was an impossible dream. Appealing didn't even _begin_ to cover it… much more so than choosing one of the 'nice young men' her mother seemed determined to shove in front of her.

Bryce's forehead creased, concern written in every line. "I don't have so many children that I am eager to give up my only daughter, even to so noble a group as the Grey Wardens. So, unless you plan on invoking the Right of Conscription..." He let his words trail away.

"No no, I would not insist. I have no desire to break up your family. It is a great compliment to your daughter's ability, however, that word of her talents reached me. Perhaps I might see a demonstration of her skills before I leave for Ostagar myself."

Disappointment flooded Lyra's stomach. It wasn't a surprise. A Cousland always did her duty, and she'd expected no less from her father. Had she been anyone but a Cousland, though...

Perhaps something in her expression spoke of her regret, for the Warden winked at her. A giggle slipped from her lips at the covert communication. She liked this Duncan.

Bryce, for his part, looked relieved that the Warden wouldn't insist upon recruiting her. Not that Lyra blamed him - her mother would have had kittens. "Pup. Find your brother and tell him he'll be leading the armies out tonight, instead of tomorrow. I'll meet with him later to give him the rest of the details."

"Yes father." Dropping a kiss on his cheek, Lyra nodded to the others, then hurried from the chamber. It wouldn't take long to find her brother, and then she could maybe get a bath before the rosewater wore off.

She was wrong, however. Half an hour later, she still hadn't found Fergus. The armor smith said he was with the groom, the groom directed her to the supply master, and the supply master sent her off to the kitchens.

_Probably stuffing his saddlebags with pastries,_ she grumbled as she trudged back across Highever's grounds. If there was one thing her brother couldn't resist, it was Nan's baking.

The sound of her name slowed her steps. Rory Gilmore waved to her from across the way. "My Lady Cousland!"

Grinning, she stopped to wait for him. "Ser Gilmore - Rory, please, we've known each other since we were children. How many times must I ask you to call me Lyra?" Rory Gilmore was a longtime friend. And if things had worked out differently, he might have been more.

A smile was on Rory's face as he jogged up to join her. Soft red hair fell in a wave across his forehead, a smattering of freckles dusted over his ivory skin. The poor man forever suffered from a peeling sunburn across the bridge of his nose, so pale was his complexion. Eyes as green as tidepools swept up to meet hers, stirring the same flutter he'd inspired in her heart since her fourteenth year.

While most nobles built their futures around status and made marriages based on who could boost them higher, Lyra had little interest in raising herself politically. Her family was already at the top of Ferelden's heirarchy, second only to the Theirins, holders of the throne for generations. What need had she for status? No, instead Lyra longed for a love match, something similar to what her parents had cultivated, and she had little care whether it was with a knight, a freeholder, or the king himself.

Not that Cailan Theirin needed a bride. If he had, likely she'd have run in the other direction. Rule a kingdom? She barely had interest in ruling a banquet table, which was probably the only duty her eventual husband would allow her.

As for Rory... He was certainly good looking, and conversation came easily to them. Second to herself, he was the best fighter in Highever, and had been training for just as many years. There was attraction, no doubt, and a sense of companionship. So much better than the simpering noble sons she danced with each Satinalia, with hands far less calloused than her own.

When Lyra was fifteen, there had been an evening of conversation and confessions, ending with an awkward kiss. For nearly a year afterward Rory had avoided her like the plague. When she finally discovered it was due to a stupid misunderstanding, she'd cornered him and demanded that he speak to her again. Their friendship had been slow in recovering, and it was only recently that they'd begun to recapture the comfortable closeness they'd enjoyed as children. In Lyra's case, however, the old attraction had never gone away.

Now Rory took her hand in his own, brushing it with his lips before offering her a shy smile. The familiar gesture stopped her heart, and she drew an astonished breath. "Lyra, then," he said softly.

It seemed those green orbs would swallow her whole. She swallowed, her heart hammering in her ears.

"Your mother has asked me to find you and escort you to the kitchens," Rory went on, oblivious to her flustered state. "It seems your hound is causing trouble, and you know how mabari are - only owners can call them off. Cook's quite upset. She's threatening to quit."

A chuckle slipped out as Lyra thought of Nan and her tantrums. "She threatens that every other day." _He's still holding my hand._"Um... Let's go, then. I was on my way to the kitchens anyway." _Sweet Maker, he's_still_holding my hand!_ She hesitated, not wishing to be the one who broke their contact. "Uh, h-have you seen Fergus, by chance?"

Rory gave her hand a quick squeeze before finally letting it drop away, color rushing to his cheeks the moment the spell broke. "Uh, he was on his way to spend some time with his wife and son. I passed him not far back." After a moment's hesitation, he offered her his elbow, and they began to stroll down the stone walkway toward the kitchen.

Suddenly, Lyra was glad for the brief stop in Oriana's room and the pinch of rose-water.

Their normally easy conversation was slow in starting as they both adjusted to the reality of what was happening, but then Rory found something to say. "My lady – um, Lyra, tell me, is it true? I heard there is a Grey Warden here. Jolyn told me he's recruiting!"

Lyra nodded, swallowing to try and work a bit of moisture over her dry-as-dust tongue. "He's here. I met him not long ago - his name is Duncan, and Rory, he's here to see you! Isn't it exciting?"

An excited smile lit Rory's face. "Truly, Lyra? I would give anything to be a Grey Warden! I wonder if he'll take me. I'm not of noble birth."

"Don't be silly, you don't have to be noble. The Grey Wardens take anyone who is capable. I'm sure they have tests, though." Her brow wrinkled. "What do you suppose they are?"

"Fighting, of course. Tracking, maybe. And I'm sure you can't be an idiot."

"That leaves Fergus out, then," Lyra giggled.

Rory's eyes darted sideways, slight admonishment quirking one coppery eyebrow. "Lady, your brother is a fine man."

"Rory, this is me you're talking to," she reminded him. He offered her a familiar grin, sending butterflies dancing through her.

Whatever he meant to say next went unheard, for as they approached the kitchen the sound of crockery smashing against stone stilled his words. Nan's shrill voice could be heard from within, and Lyra eased her hand from Rory's elbow with regret before pushing the wooden door open.

"Good for nothin' dog! If he's gotten into the roast I'll murder him with my own two bare hands, be damned wha' his mistress'd say!" Grey-haired Nan stood in the center of the room, a feral expression on her lined face. The elven servants shrank against the wall, wide eyes cast downward as they listened to her tirade.

Lyra glanced around - shards of pottery on the floor, but no spilled food or other destruction, and no sign of her mabari. "Come now, Nan, surely it can't be all that bad?" Sauntering into the kitchen, she leaned against the wall, crossing one ankle over the other and folding her arms over her chest. Rory moved in quietly to stand at her back, her awareness of his presence warming her like her own personal sun.

Galla and Varen cowered against the other wall. Lyra's heart twanged for the long-suffering kitchen workers. Highever's cook was a hard task-mistress with a foul temper, but it was all bluster, masking one of the kindliest souls Lyra had ever come across. Nan would sooner die than admit to that, though.

She glared up at Lyra, spotted-hands planted upon her thin hips. "Don' take that tone with me, young mistress! You're not so grown yet that I couldn't tan your britches if I had to. Tha' mutt has crossed the line! He's lucky Galla dropped the only bowl worth throwing, or I'd've smashed it over his fool head. Always gettin' in my way, eatin' what he ain't allowed, makin' more work than I've time for..."

Lyra sensed the storm wasn't going to end anytime soon, which meant there was nothing to do but forge out into it. "He isn't a mutt, he's a pure-bred mabari, a war hound of the highest caliber, and he's just as smart as you and I. But let me get him before he vexes you further, Nan." She leaned down to kiss the old woman's papery cheek, then pulled open the door to the larder.

The hind end of her dog was the sight that greeted her, wagging back and forth in glee with his nose lowered into a pile of flour sacks. Whining, he scratched eagerly at the fabric, then backed up suddenly and whuffle-snuffed a doggy sneeze.

"The damage doesn't look bad... in fact, I don't think he touched anything. How did he get in here, anyway?" Rory wondered. Kestrel spotted his mistress and barked a delighted greeting, spinning around to bury his head in her outstretched hands.

She knelt and ruffled his ears, then pressed her forehead to his, peering into deep brown eyes. "What are you doing in here, Kestrel?"

He turned back to the piled sacks, another whine singing from his throat.

"Okay, the sacks. Shall I look?"

Kestrel barked, launching himself in a full circle of excitement, then butted against her legs, pushing her toward the rumpled stack of cloth.

"Okay, I get it! Let me be, mutt," she chuckled affectionately, then knelt and began pulling the sacks aside.

Kestrel growled, his hackles rising as she made her way through the pile.

Mystified, Lyra shook her head at him._What in Thedas could he be-_

A giant rodent shot out from the last of the bags, and she leapt to her feet, a shriek of dismay tumbling forth before she could stop it. Heart in her throat, she stared as the largest rats she'd ever seen poured from a hole gnawed through the plaster. With a shout, Rory fell in among them, his broadsword almost too big for the task.

She joined him a moment later, chastising herself for her squeamish reaction. Rats died like anything else, though as she speared one with a dagger and it continued to wriggle on her blade, she nearly flung the awful thing across the room.

It was the squirminess of them. Yes, that was it.

A few moments later, the larder was littered with furry corpses. Kestrel savaged the last one, a pathetic squeak chirping from its lips as he shook it back and forth.

"Giant rats? It's like the start of every bad adventure tale my grandfather used to tell," Rory remarked as he pulled a rag from his pouch. He polished his blade with it, cleaning it of fur and blood. The cloth was passed to Lyra next, who gave her dagger the same treatment before slipping it back into its sheath.

Kestrel had begun piling the critters up, and Rory helped Lyra shovel their bodies into an empty sack. Heartbeat slowing, Lyra grinned at her dog. "You weren't stealing from the larder. You were saving the roast! Kestrel, you're my hero." She tossed him a bit of sausage from a shelf, and Kestrel snatched it from the air with a wolfish grin.

Rory propped the door open with one booted foot. "It's alright, Nan, your dinner is safe. Kestrel was just keeping rats out of your foodstuffs."

Nan bulled past him, going straight to the carved roast to inspect it for damages. She barely seemed to notice the reddened stains on the planking, and Lyra covertly tucked the sack behind her back.

"Rats? Oh, how horrid!" Galla cried.

"Quiet, girl. Now see what you've done - you've scared the servants. Get along then while we finish preparations for dinner. Don't just stand there Galla, pick up that broken bowl. Varen, help her and then start peeling those potatoes."

Kestrel whined at Nan, his head cocking to one side.

The cook let out a noisy sigh. One veined hand swept a pile of trimmings from a counter, then dropped them before the dog. She gathered her apron in her hands, cleaning them of grime. "Take these pork bits, then, and don't say Nan never gave you nothing. Bloody dog," she muttered. Kestrel consumed the delicacies in one bite, then looked at Lyra with a triumphant gleam in his eye. He trotted out of the kitchen, Lyra and Ser Gilmore right behind.

Outside, Rory cleared his throat. "Well, my lady, I will leave you to whatever plan seems good. Oh, shall I take that for you?" He reached over to slip the bag of rats from her fingers. A shy smile brightened his face, and then he looked down, clearing his throat.

The sudden thought that she might like to kiss him flashed through her mind. Dare she? _Yes_, but now before she could change her mind. An indrawn breath for courage, and Lyra leaned in to brush her lips against Rory's cheek. His skin was soft, a pleasant surprise that sent a thrill over her.

Rory crimsoned, though his verdant eyes warmed as he met her gaze. A moment later he stumbled back, his hand cupping the back of his neck as he muttered about needing to be somewhere else.

Lyra grinned, pleased with herself. She watched him go, rather amazed at her daring, then whistled to Kestrel and danced off to Fergus' room to deliver her father's message.


	4. Lessons in Loss

**Chapter 3****  
><strong>Lessons in Loss<strong>**

A fine sheen of sweat coated her upper lip, her helmet banging against her head as she jogged behind Duncan's lithe form. Every mile they traveled loosened the buckle, and the leather strap was wearing thin with the constant jostling. She would have to see about replacing it.

Deft fingers reached up to fasten it more tightly, her stride consistent as she trained her eyes on the blue and silver griffin emblazoned on Duncan's shield. The man could run, that was for sure. As much as Lyra liked to think she kept in fighting trim, she wasn't used to this – running for four to five hours a day in full armor and weaponry, and carrying a pack of supplies gathered from a farmhouse on the road. They walked, then ran, walked, then ran, from sunup til sundown. Duncan had said they would cover ground much faster this way. It was standard army practice, to be sure - but she had never been in the army.

She was a teyrn's daughter no longer; her family had been cut down by Arl Howe's men. Vision blurred as she kept her eyes focused firmly on the landscape, clearing only when the rogue tears slid down her cheeks. It would do no good to wipe them away. More would only follow, tracking the same paths down her face. Memories looped through her mind as she ran on, endlessly replaying the horrific night she'd lost her reasons for living...

.oOo.

A sharp growl jolted her awake, her eyes flying open to absorb the heavy curtains that swathed the upper reaches of her four-poster bed. Scratching sounds met her ears as her mabari pawed the heavy oaken door, his snarls growing louder and more agitated. Lyra bolted upright in a daze, her nostrils thick with the smell of smoke from the open window.

_Fire?_ she thought, her sleep-clouded mind struggling to sort out the varying stimuli that rushed at her. There were voices outside the door, strident and frightened…. Something was wrong. Clambering out of bed, she hurried to the chest by the wall to find her clothing and weapons. She'd barely begun pawing through the trunk when the door flew open, one of the castle's elven servants bursting into her room.

"My lady! The castle is under attack!" His rallying cry was cut off as an arrow exploded through the fabric of his shirt. It blossomed red, and his eyes rolled back as he collapsed to the floor.

Lyra froze, naked but for her smallclothes, too shocked to cry out.

Kestrel had no such difficulties. He leaped through the door with a challenging bark, but then his pained yelp echoed as a rough male voice shouted "Get this beast off me!" A scuffle, and then Lyra heard slow, cautious footsteps.

Trembling fingers grazed her dagger beneath the clothing she'd been rustling through, and she wrapped steadying fingers around the pommel with a shaky breath.

The man who entered her room was smelly and unshaven, and he grinned like an idiot when he saw her crouching on the floor. Lyra's heart hammered in fear… nothing good could possibly come of this.

"Hey boys, look what I found!" He skulked toward her, his smile more menacing with every step. Keeping her eyes on her attacker, Lyra rose, well aware of how vulnerable she seemed. The dagger she held behind her back, out of sight. With her free hand she pushed a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, her mouth gone dry as bone. Two more men entered the room, and her eyes darted between them as her strategy changed to handle multiple opponents.

The soldiers laughed in anticipation, and the one nearest her began unfastening his armor. The vital moment of distraction.

Leaping forward, she planted the dagger in the side of his neck, then yanked it free and spun closer to the second intruder. With a quick slash across his neck, she ended his life in a gurgling froth of blood. Adjusting her balance, she lifted her foot in a savage kick at the third, driving her heel into his belly. He grunted, folding at the waist, and as he did she dropped the dagger, grabbed his head and slammed it down into her upraised knee, breaking his nose and pushing the cartilage and bone straight up into his brain. The soldier collapsed, leaving the room silent but for Lyra's quickened breathing.

It was finished - less than ten seconds after it had begun. Panic crept over her, along with the desire to curl up on the floor and had hysterics. Never before had she actually killed a man, and now three lay dead at her feet. It mattered not that they'd meant to murder her, and violate her before they did it. Even with all her training, Lyra hadn't known she was capable of defending herself in such a brutal manner.

Tears would do her no good now. It was done. Lyra forced down her feelings of horror and made herself think.

_The soldiers_. She didn't recognize them, which meant they weren't from Highever's elite, so this wasn't an insurrection from within. From the speech patterns of the one who had jeered at her, it seemed they might have come from Amaranthine.

Suddenly she remembered her mabari. _Kestrel!_ Where was he? Forgetting that she was still mostly naked, she skidded into the hallway.

Her longtime companion huddled upon the floor, a bloody lump forming on top of his head.

"No! Kestrel, please…" Quivering hands stroked his fur. He was still warm, and she was gratified to find a heartbeat beneath her fingers. After a moment, Kestrel stirred, and she hugged him close, relieved tears brimming. He swiped a rough tongue over her face, then cocked an eye at her naked form, giving a soft whine.

Lyra looked down and sniffled a little, then gave a weak laugh. "I suppose I should dress, then?"

Kestrel whuffed softly, then got to his feet and nudged her toward her door. She complied, stepping gingerly over the bodies of the soldiers as she hurried to her trunk. Pulling on soft, comfortable linens, she strapped her armor on as quickly as she could with her shaking hands. Panic mounted as the task grew more difficult, her rebellious fingers refusing to cooperate, and she forced herself to slow down, draw a calming breath and finish the buckles.

The door at the end of the hall opened as she slid the last one home, and her heart jackhammered again in fear as she fumbled her weapons out of their sheaths.

"Lyra? Sweetheart?"

Maker, her mother's voice. Her knees turned to jelly as she stumbled into the hallway.

Eleanor was dressed in her old archer's jerkin, an arrow nocked and ready to release. When she saw her daughter, she let the string go slack and rushed forward to throw arms around her youngest. Relief overwhelmed Lyra, her emotions getting the best of her as she sobbed in her mother's arms.

"Now, now my girl, everything will be fine. Are you hurt?" Eleanor pulled away and looked her up and down, checking for anything amiss.

Lyra shook her head and hiccupped. "I... _killed_ them, Mother." Her voice cracked, a fresh wave of tears cutting off any further words.

Eleanor pulled her close again, murmuring soothing sounds. After another moment she forced Lyra away again, hands clenched firm against her daughter's shoulders as she searched her tear-streaked face. "I heard the commotion outside and dressed as quickly as I could. Have you seen your father? He never came to bed."

Lyra shook her head and pulled in a deep, calming breath. She scrubbed at her eyes and their betraying wetness, furious with herself for being so weak.

Suddenly Eleanor's eyes widened. "You don't suppose... Oriana!" Eleanor dashed toward the door opposite Lyra's and flung it open.

Lyra was right behind her mother, and the sight that met their eyes would stay with her for the rest of her life.

Oriana lay at an unnatural angle, her fair Antivan skin mottled blue and purple. Her throat had been bruised, the shape of a human hand a dark imprint around her windpipe. Beside her lay Oren, a gaping hole in his stomach. Blood pooled in a viscous puddle around him that soaked his pajamas and turned everything a macabre crimson. His innocent eyes were contorted, mouth open in a frozen scream as his youthful fingers clutched his mother's skirt.

Eleanor sank to her knees, looking helplessly on the bodies of her daughter-in-law and grandson. Lyra knelt beside her to lay a comforting hand on her shoulder, but Eleanor shoved it away. Her voice began as a broken whisper and built to a wail of anguish. "Who would do this? Who would kill these two, completely innocent and without defense? Why, Maker, _why_?"

Lyra shut her eyes to the grisly sight, her breath quickening as she fought off more tears. Her mother's strangled sob cut through her own pain. Now she became the one to offer comfort, opening her arms to her mother as Eleanor sobbed over her only grandchild, dead at mercenary hands. Something hardened inside of Lyra, her stomach leaden. This was no random attack.

A nasty suspicion had been niggling at the back of her brain. Lyra glanced back toward her room and the three dead soldiers. Leaving her mother, she walked purposefully to the bodies to upend the overturned shield one of them had slung on a lifeless arm.

The brown bear on a gold and white background, symbol of the Howes, stared back at her.

Her mother's voice brought her out of the disbelief that had glued her to the floor. "Arl Howe? But..."

Lyra gasped as the truth snapped into harsh clarity. "He attacks us while the army is gone. He means to take Highever!"

"Then... your father!" As one, Eleanor and Lyra sprinted down the hall, grief for Oriana and Oren shoved temporarily aside in the hope of saving _someone_.

.oOo.

Lyra slashed her daggers in a wide arc, blood spraying as she sliced the throat of an attacker. A quick spin to the side, and she caught another man in the nose with the crook of her elbow.

"Lyra, come on!" Eleanor's frantic voice cajoled her.

She dashed toward the anteroom after her mother, gasping as hairy arms grabbed her from behind in her mad scramble to get away. Grunting, she slammed her helmet back into what she hoped was her attacker's nose, and the arms released. She stumbled as she was dropped, regaining her balance and getting a fresh grip on her weapons.

A savage yell filled her ears. "Mabari bitch!"

_"Motherless son of a whore!" _With this bloodcurdling shriek, she whirled and drove her twin daggers home, reveling in the pained gasp that slithered from his lips. His limp body was shoved away into the hall as her mother let fly a final arrow, and Lyra ducked through the door as Eleanor kicked it shut in front of them. Hefting a chair, Lyra shoved it under the latch, securing the entrance for a moment. The women panted with exertion, operating on pure adrenaline and survivalist instinct.

"Lyra…. Motherless son of a whore?"

Lyra shrugged, her breathing too labored to answer. Sweat dripped down her forehead, and she bent at the waist, leaning shaking hands on her knees. Turning her head, she gazed up at her mother, waiting for the lecture that always followed such rough language. It was hardly the time for it, and yet she didn't expect a little thing like invasion to stop Eleanor Cousland from lessoning her in manners.

But her mother just shook her head with a faint gleam of wry amusement. Another breathless moment passed as they gulped air. "We must get to the kitchens," Eleanor said at last. "The larder – the secret exit the Couslands built for just such an emergency. If your father is not here, he must have gone there to wait for us. Highever is lost - we must get out!"

Lyra nodded, drawing another lungful, then followed her mother across the room.

"Ready?" her mother asked.

Lyra nodded, determination slanting her eyebrows.

Eleanor threw open the door, and they began to sprint again. The way was clear, they could be there in minutes. The only sounds of battle were far off.

"My lady! Lady Lyra!"

Her heart twisted. _Rory!_

He careened around a corner, and she threw her arms around him with a choked sob, thrilled beyond speech that he was alive. His arms tightened in response, and Lyra felt somewhat guilty at the thrill such contact gave her, even in the midst of catastrophe.

"Lyra, you live!" Rory murmured into her hair. "I was so afraid you were dead. Quickly, you and Lady Cousland must get to the kitchens... Teyrn Cousland is-"

Eleanor cut him off. "You saw Bryce?"

Ser Gilmore released Lyra, a flush darkening his cheeks as he stepped away. "Yes, my lady. He sent me to find you, said he would go through the tunnel and meet you on the other end. I will cover your retreat. You must escape now!"

Lyra grabbed for Rory's hand, desperation notching her voice. "Come with us!"

"I must see to it that you escape safely..."

The stubborn set of her mouth spoke volumes.

One corner of his mouth rose, though his eyes didn't reflect it. "I will follow as soon as I can. I promise."

A lump grew in Lyra's throat. It was a comforting lie, one she would have to be contented with. Rory would die defending the castle they'd grown up in, and Lyra would add him to the list of people she'd lost that night. Tears burned as she looked at him, his verdant eyes so vivid and void of hope. Rory trailed a calloused hand over her cheek.

Eleanor had already begun the sprint away, and Lyra tugged him along, unwilling to let go just yet. "You have to come," she uttered as they ran. "Please, Rory!"

A clutch of enemy soldiers spotted them as they raced around a corner. Fear iced Lyra's heart, accompanied by the ring of Rory's sword as he loosed it from his belt. A quick squeeze of his hand, and then he slid away, regret shining in his green eyes. Years of meaning poured from that single look, and Lyra choked back a sob.

"For Highever!" he cried. It was in Lyra's mind to unsnick her daggers and fight at his side, but her mother yanked her away. Fresh grief welled as the sounds of battle rose behind them, her childhood sweetheart buying them precious minutes with which to escape.

Lyra could scarcely breathe. Heartbroken, she stumbled along behind her mother, blind with tears and rage. How much more would she lose before the night was over?

It seemed like only seconds later that they arrived at the larder door. Eleanor flung it open and stopped short, a harsh breath stuttering from her throat at the sight that met their eyes.

Bryce Cousland lay prone on the floor, agony written upon his face as his lifeblood seeped from a grievous stomach wound.

"Father!" Lyra cried in horror, and skidded to her knees beside him. Eleanor felt to her knees close by, taking her husband's hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

His lips attempted an upward turn; a ghostly, gray smile made mocking by the blood that bubbled at the corners of his mouth. "Pup. Elle. You're alive... it's more than I'd hoped for."

There wasn't enough air. The world was ending, and there was nothing Lyra could do to stop it. "Father, you must get up. We'll take you out of here! Mother and I can carry you..."

He shook his head, even that small movement seeming to drain him. His voice was weak, wracked with death. "Pup, I'm nearly gone. You and your mother must escape. Warn Fergus of Howe's treachery."

"I'm afraid your father is right."

Lyra's eyes flew upward to discover the Grey Warden, Duncan, towering over them. A look of deep sadness creased his forehead. "I arrived only moments ago. He doesn't have much time."

"No, Bryce... stay with me. We can find you healing magic..." Eleanor's voice wavered as she proposed the impossible.

Duncan knelt between the two women, his dark eyes grave. "Teyrn Cousland, I can take your family to safety, but I must ask a boon in return. I came to Castle Highever seeking a recruit, and the Blight demands that I not leave without one. In truth, it is your daughter I had hoped to recruit all along. Will you give her to me, to the Grey Wardens, to stop the Blight?"

Lyra whipped her head toward Duncan in disbelief. How could he think of such a thing at a time like this? Had the man no heart at all? Highever was burning, her family dying, and he wanted to make her a Warden?

Her father's pain-filled voice brought her back to the moment, and she swiveled to focus on him once more. "Keep them safe, Duncan. I can't make the choice for her... but Pup, go with him. Live. Take care of your mother. Do your duty... to Ferelden, and to Highever." He seemed likely to expire at any moment.

She clasped his hand and pressed it to her cheek, her quick nod signaling her agreement to honor his last wish. "I will, Father," she whispered.

"I'm not going." Eleanor's voice was deathly calm.

"What?" Lyra turned to her mother, horrified.

"I will stay and cover your retreat. The bastards will have to get through me before they can hurt you."

"Mother, no! Please, please come with us!" She couldn't lose both parents, not in one night-

"Eleanor-"

Her mother cupped her father's face in her hands, leaning down to rest her forehead against his. "Hush, Bryce. I don't want to live in this world without you. Our children will carry on without us." She turned to her daughter and Duncan. Lyra had no idea what sort of terror her face must have held, but her mother donned a mask of determination and reached for her daughter's hands as she gave Lyra her last command. "Go, Lyra. Warn Fergus. Live, and see that Howe dies for his treachery. Duncan, keep her safe."

"No mother, please come with us. Please!"

Eleanor's hands squeezed hers for the last time, her fierce blue eyes glimmering with tears. "Go, my girl. Take all my love with you. Find your brother."

Nearly choking, Lyra leaned in to brush her lips over her mother's cheek. "I love you both, so much…."

Rough voices outside the larder door stole the last few moments they might have shared. "_Go,_ Lyra!" With a rough shove, Eleanor sent her daughter spinning into Duncan's care. The elder Warden locked his fingers around Lyra's upper arm, hauling her toward the trapdoor.

On wooden legs, the last remaining Cousland followed Duncan through the escape tunnel, his firm hand guiding her away from Highever and into the unknown. Forever afterward, Lyra could recall nothing further of their escape but the pressure of Duncan's hand on her arm, the smeary gold of torchlight, and the rough sounds of hobnailed boots on stone.


	5. Joining Alistair

**Chapter 4****  
><strong>Joining Alistair<strong>**

Ostagar was impressive. An old ruin, perhaps, but an impressive one.

Lyra surveyed the fort, her lower lip disappearing between her teeth. She looked down at Kestrel, who panted up at her. "Well, go with Duncan. I'll be fine without you for an hour, boy." She gave his ears a twitch. Kestrel whined and tilted his head, but at her pointed look, he _whuffed_ and followed the elder Grey Warden across the bridge. Lyra trailed slowly after them, enjoying the leisure to really take in her surroundings. Now that they were here, she wanted to stretch her legs and walk normally for the first time in five days.

Five days... five days of fleeing, of watching her back, of wondering if Howe was on her heels, of keeping to the shadows and traveling from sunrise til sunset. Her first few days had been agony, struggling to accept the fact that her family was gone. On the third day her tears had run dry at last, though her eyes still ached from the strain. The constant exertion had hardened her muscles, but every bone in her body still ached with deep sadness and fatigue. She _had_ been sleeping, thank goodness, but only because by the time they stopped she was ready to drop from exhaustion. If her soul was tired, at least her body was surviving.

Before Duncan had left her, she'd met the King of Ferelden; surely a landmark in any young noblewoman's life. But Cailan had seemed so... boyish. It was the only word for it. Blonde, good-looking, he was the traditional image of a young monarch. She supposed _most_people were charmed with him. In her opinion, he seemed more like a fanciful youth than a man ready to lead his country to victory. Kings should look more like... Duncan. Or her father.

She only hoped that Loghain Mac Tir was all the tales said of him, since _he_ was the leader of the armies. Every story she'd heard about Teyrn Loghain boasted hard work and independence; a man with an iron will, but tempered with wisdom. Cailan could stand at the front and glitter, for all she cared, as long as someone competent was giving the orders.

The king had professed deep shock and sympathy for the loss of her family, but she didn't expect much in the way of help from the throne. Not with a Blight looming, even if Cailan doubted it really was, in fact, a Blight.

After listening to his sympathetic noises about her loss, Lyra had begged leave to go search for her brother Fergus, who was scouting somewhere in the Korcari Wilds. The king had apologetically denied her request, saying that with the battle looming it was simply impossible to send a search party out after him, and there was no way she could go alone. The pent up emotion had proven too much, and she had completely lost her temper.

Cailan was taken aback at her vehemence, but held firm – she had her duty to the Wardens to think of, and he'd sworn that once the battle was done, he would turn his armies north to bring Howe to justice. Until then, she would need to be patient.

Lyra had bitten her lip, squashed her ire and acquiesced with as much grace as she could muster, acknowledging that there was little the crown could actually do for her at the moment. Just as she had her duty, Cailan had his.

Never had she felt so very alone.

Lifting her chin, she shouldered her burden and continued into Ostagar, tamping her grief down into a compact bundle. Stubbornness tied it up into a neat package, to await the day she could unwrap it in peace. For now… duty.

What was the junior Warden's name again? Alan? Adan? Alis...Alistair. Duncan had said to find him; the man was supposed to answer any questions she might have. She chewed the inside of her cheek and pulled her helmet from her aching head, tempted to let her hair down and rub some of the sweat and dust away. It had been three days since her last bath, and Lyra doubted she smelled very good. She settled with massaging her fingers beneath the heavy braids, then strapped the helmet back on and looked around. One way was bound to be as good as another, so choosing a direction at random, she strode through the camp, focused on finding her new mentor.

.oOo.

"And I was going to name one of my children after you. The _grumpy_ one."

The mage snarled a response and stalked off. Lyra looked on, amused at the flippant exchange she'd just witnessed.

The young man who'd been speaking turned then, saw her, and threw her a happy grin, showing off a pair of dimples. "That's the wonderful thing about a Blight... it really brings people together."

His voice was friendly, and Lyra couldn't help but smile at the ridiculous notion. The last time she'd smiled had been before she'd left Highever, but... it felt good. Thus cheered, she walked forward to meet him. "Are you Alistair?"

He was taller than she, but only by a few inches, which put him at roughly six feet. Cousland men were tall as a rule, and both Fergus and her father had towered to an impressive six feet, four inches. While most women would have thought differently, to Lyra's eyes, this young man didn't seem overly tall. She barely had to raise her chin to meet his gaze. He was muscular, as any knight should be, and armored in gray splintmail, with a standard longsword strapped to his back. Short, reddish-blonde hair – not quite auburn, too much gold – and it stuck up in the front. Somehow, the style looked carefully contrived, as though he'd spent time arranging each strand to his own satisfaction. Friendly, hazel eyes twinkled at her, and a days' worth of stubble flashed golden in the afternoon light.

He certainly was handsome, and apparently had a fair sense of humor to boot. Something about his face niggled at her memory, although she couldn't imagine where she might have met him before.

His eyes widened as she spoke, then raked her from ankle to neck in confusion. "I-I'm sorry, what did you say?"

_Was I unclear? _she wondered. "I said, are you Alistair? If you are, I'm supposed to find you. Duncan sent me. I'm the newest Grey Warden recruit."

He blinked and shook his head, and then smiled sheepishly. "I - I'm sorry, you took me by surprise. I didn't realize you were a woman until you spoke. Your voice, it caught me off guard... We don't see too many women in armor around here."

She quirked an eyebrow. _Maybe I look more like a boy than Fergus thought...Oriana was right_, she thought grimly. "Why not? Don't think a woman can fight as well as you men?" Her tone was challenging, and she was gratified to see that it made him stumble to reassure her.

"No, not at all! I'm sure you're a fine fighter. Possibly more than fine, since you're _here_, and if Duncan recruited you. Just because you're a woman doesn't mean you're only... ahhh... Just... look, we've started badly, and it's my fault. Let me begin again. Yes, I am Alistair. And you are...?"

Pursing her lips, she eyed him for a judgmental moment. So befuddled was his expression, it made her bite her lip with humor. Oafish he might be, but he _seemed_ sincere, and his eyes pled for her to forgive his assumptions. Softening, she held out her hand. "I'm Lyra."

Alistair's grip was firm, his smile relieved. "Lyra. It's a pleasure." His hand left hers, though the smile remained and shifted into something more relaxed. "So you're our newest recruit! Welcome to Ostagar. Have you seen the many sights yet? There's the mage camp, the healers' tents, the anatomical demonstrations of darkspawn and how to kill them..." Her somber face cracked into a grin, and Alistair's lips tugged further upward in response. "Seriously, though. I know Duncan has plans for the recruits, but is there anything you need to do before we get started? We'll probably be fairly busy for a little while, so now's a good time."

A sudden itch in her scalp prompted the thought. She unstrapped her helmet and turned it over in her hands. "I could use a new strap on this helmet. Is there a decent armorer in camp?"

He gestured. "Follow me."

They fell in beside each other, strolling through the camp. Ostagar bustled with preparations for war. Elven servants scurried to and fro, running messages and delivering various sundries. Men shouted, dogs barked. Lyra glanced over one shoulder to see a makeshift kennel set up near a grouping of trees. The sound of mabari barking was almost home-like, though there had only been a few at Highever. Around various fires, soldiers gobbled hurried meals, sharpened weapons, or played at cards or dice. A scantily-dressed woman with tousled curls brushed past them as they walked, throwing Alistair an inviting smile. The Warden ignored her, but Lyra's cheeks burned. _Camp followers..._she thought. _Where there are soldiers, there's bound to be... businesswomen_.

Alistair cleared his throat self-consciously, and gestured to the object in her hands. "Looks like a good helmet, but I admit I've never seen the style. Where did you say you were from?" he asked, obviously seeking a topic of conversation.

"I... I'm from Highever." She studied the ground, her tightly packaged grief fraying at the edges.

"Never been there, myself. I spent most of my life in Redcliffe. Heard of it?"

She nodded, swallowing. "Arl Eamon. My family went there once... for his wedding."

Alistair looked at her more closely. "Did you really? Wait... you said your name is Lyra? Of course! How could I be so stupid? You're Lyra Cousland, Teyrn Bryce and Lady Eleanor's daughter!" He grinned at her, and she suddenly realized why he seemed familiar. Alistair! Of course – they'd been playmates twelve years ago, inseparable during the week-long visit to Redcliffe. The events of that week came rushing back, and the initial tinge of surprise and pleasure at meeting an old friend turned sinister with the unwelcome recollections of her family.

Alistair chattered on, unaware of what his trip down memory lane was doing to her control. "I only met your parents once, during the wedding week, but they seemed like grand people. Lady Eleanor was so kind… I was only eleven. I think you must have been about seven or eight..."

Like a waterfall, his words flowed over her, wearing away the careful wall she'd built to dam the flood. The tide of memories threatened to drown her, and Lyra's pace slowed, finally coming to a complete halt as she fought to keep breathing. She clenched her eyes shut, sequestering herself from at least _one_ of her senses.

"I remember Thomas saying something about a game, and you didn't want to play..." Alistair's voice trailed off as he walked, and then she heard him stop, turn back. His boots crunched through the gravel as he approached. "Uh… you okay?"

He sounded concerned. Lyra clenched her fists, drawing a deep breath, not trusting herself to open her eyes just yet. "Sorry. I need a moment," she gritted.

"Uh… do you need a healer? The mages are close by-"

"No." Blinking, she swallowed, lifting her chin in determination. This would _not_ break her. She was stronger than this, better than this. "Sorry. I'm fine." Lyra forced her eyes open, praying the look on his face wouldn't unleash her tears.

He _did_ look a bit worried for her. "Um… okay," Alistair said, sounding puzzled. "So, I was about to ask you if you recalled that day in Redcliffe."

She shrugged, affecting an uncaring air as she focused on her boots. If she could make him stop talking about it, she could keep it locked down. "I confess I don't remember. I was pretty young, after all."

"…Oh." He sounded disappointed, and when she looked up she was surprised to see it reflected on his face. "I was certain you would. What about – well, Thomas caused this fight, and then you were banished to your room for the day, and… the two of us had lessons together, before the Summerday celebrations." He was mumbling now, but his hazel eyes flicked toward hers, naked hope simmering within.

"Sorry, I don't remember," she muttered. The hurt that threaded his face twisted her stomach, but she ignored it, too caught up in her own struggle to fully realize what her rejection was doing to him. Lyra walked on, hoping he would get the hint, and after a moment he followed, then took the lead once more.

The silence was awkward. Alistair scratched uneasily at his neck, then cleared his throat. "I met your brother, as well... what was his name..."

"Fergus." The word came out crisper than she'd meant it to.

"That was it. Great chap, I remember thinking how I hoped I'd be as tall as he was. That would have made him, what..."

"Fifteen," she muttered, wishing he'd just _drop_ it already.

"Wow." Alistair fell silent at last, and Lyra dared a glance at him. His brows were creased, hurt confusion digging rows into his forehead. "I guess that was a long time ago."

There were no other words as they approached a makeshift armory, complete with forge and blacksmithing tools. "So. The armorer is right here."

In the pale shadows of the tent, Lyra could make out a man seated on a stool, hunched over a mesh suit of chain.

"Shall I leave you, then, or..." Alistair let the words trail off.

She glanced at him, alarmed that he might abandon her. "Oh, um, no, please. It shouldn't take a moment. Stay." She stepped quickly into the tent, and the armorer looked up as she held out the old helmet clutched in her fingers.

.oOo.

Alistair watched from outside the tent, wondering if his memory was playing tricks on him. The girl he'd known in Redcliffe had been full of life. This one was aloof and quiet._I suppose it's too much to hope that she might remember me,_ he mused. _She's a noble, and I'm a nobody_.

"Alistair, there you are." Duncan's voice broke through his maudlin thoughts. "You've met Lyra, I see."

Alistair offered his mentor a grin, glad to see the elder rogue returned. "Duncan, hello! Yes, she found me a little while ago, and asked me to show her to the armorer. Broken helmet."

Within the tent, Lyra was speaking with the armor master, her shapely hands offering the helm for inspection. Master Johen gave a quick nod as he looked it over, then reached for his tools. She watched with utter focus, her face serious, those wide eyes intent. To look at her, there was nothing on earth more important at the moment.

Alistair peered at her, recommitting her features to his memory. It had been years since he'd seen her last, though not twelve years as she believed. Just a scant five. She'd been skinnier, her features less finished. There was a maturity now that had been lacking in her teenage years, though he'd found her no less lovely then.

He'd been beyond shocked when he realized just who it was that stood before him. Lyra Cousland, the girl who'd been his first childhood friend. He'd spent years alone in Castle Redcliffe, secluded from the other children, not allowed to go to the school in the village, tutored privately by a Chantry sister in the castle. It was Eamon's wedding that had brought other children into his life for the first time, and the week had been too busy and too full of people for anyone to remember Alistair and keep him from interacting with them. Those memories were precious, and to realize that she didn't share them was saddening. Alistair ran their words through his mind again, wondering if he'd somehow done something wrong without knowing it.

"Alistair, may I speak with you for a moment?" Duncan asked.

The junior Warden looked up quickly, tearing his eyes away from the girl and her study of the armor master. "Oh, certainly, Duncan. Lyra, excuse us, please." She looked up and gave him a small smile, and Alistair followed Duncan away from the tent.

"How have things been here?" Duncan asked.

"Fine. Well, mostly. Daveth got in a bit of trouble with one of the female soldiers, but nothing that needed intervention. From what I heard, she threatened to, what was it... 'unman' him if he propositioned her again, and that was the end of that. Ser Jory is eager to have the Joining done. Patience apparently isn't his strong suit. And now that you and Lyra are here, we can get started."

Duncan glanced back at Lyra, then jerked his head in her direction. "What do you think of our newest recruit, Alistair?"

The young Warden looked back. Lyra's eyes remained locked on the armorer, her concentration unwavering.

"She seems a bit... intense. Does she know how to laugh at all?" Alistair asked.

"I really couldn't say, son. It was a rather quiet journey, but understandably so. House Cousland was massacred a few days ago."

Alistair blinked, then wondered if he'd heard correctly. "House...her family? They're gone? The Couslands? But... Maker's breath, what happened, Duncan?" _Lady Eleanor, Teyrn Bryce... dead?_

Duncan sighed as his gaze slid to the girl. "She's a very talented fighter – at least, I have heard amazing things, and from several sources. Unfortunately, I didn't get the chance to see her in action. The night after I arrived, Arl Howe orchestrated an attack on the castle. The army had been sent ahead, and the Couslands were caught unprepared. Bryce, Eleanor, their daughter-in-law, and their grandchild were killed. Fergus was gone with the army, and Lyra and I escaped, but she is suffering, and that is why. I thought it best that you know, so that you could be prepared for anything."

Alistair groaned. "Five minutes with her, and I wouldn't be surprised if she never speaks to me again. How do I do it?"

"What happened?" Duncan asked wearily.

"I recognized her. Her family visited Redcliffe when we were children, and I went on and on, talking about her parents and her brother. She got very quiet. Maker, I'm an idiot." He hung his head, wondering what had possessed him to bring up such personal details within the first few minutes of their meeting.

Duncan sighed, his annoyance telegraphed in the simple sound. Alistair kicked at the dirt, the metal toes of his boots digging into the gravel. His knack of getting off on the wrong foot apparently hadn't changed. But even if Lyra decided she couldn't stand him, he hoped they could work together. Wardens needed to trust each other; at times, their very lives depended on it.

"She seems like a sensible young woman, Alistair. Just... be kind." Duncan put a hand on his shoulder and gave a squeeze. "I've got meetings to attend. I'll check back with you later."

Alistair nodded. Squaring his shoulders, he gave his mentor a brief smile and walked toward Lyra, who had taken her helmet back from the armorer and was ducking back out of the tent. He hesitated, and then decided to seize fate and just... hope it shook out alright. What else _could_ he do?

"How's the helmet?" Alistair asked.

"Seems to be fine... Master Johen was able to attach a new strap with no trouble. Thank the Maker for that – it was banging my head for days. Do you know, Duncan made me _run_ the whole way here? From _Highever_? It's a five day trip, I'll have you know." She smiled, and Alistair's heart flip-flopped. Was he forgiven so easily?

He smiled in return, feeling the sunshine flood back into his mood. "Duncan is a taskmaster, that's for sure. Um, have you met the other recruits?"

"No, you're the first."

"Well, c'mon. Let's go round up some Wardens... I'll introduce you before we head into the Wilds."

"The Wilds?" she asked, taking up her former spot at his side.

Alistair nodded. "Duncan has an errand for us to run, before we can begin the Joining."

.oOo.

The four of them stood in a secluded area of camp, away from the evening activity of Ostagar. Night had fallen, and Lyra shivered in her boots, not just from the chill. Now was the moment... the Joining.

After finding Ser Jory and Daveth, Duncan had instructed the foursome to go into the woods nearby – the Korcari Wilds, as they were known – and bring back enough Darkspawn blood for the Joining ritual. Lyra had heard very little about these woods, having grown up in the northernmost part of Ferelden, but Daveth was more than happy to bring her up to speed. He'd told her solemnly of the Chasind barbarians, the blight wolves and bereskarns, the men who'd disappeared without a trace... and of course, the Witches of the Wilds.

She'd nearly laughed at him when he said that. Daveth had grown up nearby, and so of course he knew all the local lore, but how could anyone really believe in witches? The rogue was a grown man, and she was amazed that anyone could take such tales seriously. Mages were one thing, but witches? It didn't seem likely.

And then they'd met Morrigan.

Of course, no magic was done, so it didn't necessarily follow that she was a witch. But there was definitely... _something_ about her. They had approached a deserted, tumble-down building in the middle of the woods when she'd... appeared, out of nowhere. They'd been so frustratingly close to the very thing they'd sought - the Grey Warden treaties. But their prize hadn't been there - Morrigan and her mother had the treaties. Odder still, they'd given them over without a fuss. The entire encounter was, as Alistair had put it, "creeeeepy".

But regardless of Morrigan, the treaties had been found, the Darkspawn killed, the necessary blood collected. Lyra thought she'd impressed the others with her abilities, but they hadn't said much... a few glances between themselves, perhaps. It was enough, for now. Earning her place among her brothers was what she'd expected to do. She was simply happy to be accepted among them.

Daveth seemed a good sort, if a bit base. Ser Jory was nice enough, but stuffy. Alistair seemed to be the friendliest of all, if lacking in basic tact. She could see herself fitting in with them, fighting next to them. It felt good to belong somewhere.

Duncan walked out of the darkness, startling her with a sudden, purposeful boot-thud on the stones. Alistair had told her he was a well-trained rogue, and seeing his silent, graceful walk, Lyra could believe it.

"Now is the time for the Joining." In a voice soft and graveled, Duncan explained the ritual, and Lyra was shocked to learn that they would be drinking the Darkspawn blood they had obtained, now that it had been prepared in the proper way. She nearly retched at the thought, swallowing the bile that rose in her throat. Then Duncan said something else, and her eyes widened.

"You mean... this ritual could kill us?" Lyra asked, wondering if she'd heard right.

His eyes met hers. "Nothing is guaranteed. You are called, and you are committed."

A cold wind gusted past their feet, but that wasn't the reason Lyra shivered.

"There are a few words that have been said at every Joining since the beginning. Alistair, will you say them now?"

Alistair's jovial face grew solemn, and he murmured the words reverently. "Join us, brothers and sisters. Join us as we stand in the shadows vigilant. Join us as we carry the duty that cannot be forsworn. And, should you die, know that one day, we... shall join you." His stare slid to Lyra, and then away, his eyes shadowed and worried.

Duncan's voice was soft, but it carried tremendous weight. "Daveth, step forth."

The ex-thief looked at the rest of them with wide eyes, then stepped up to Duncan hesitantly. Lyra thought she saw Alistair holding his breath.

With a bow of his head, Duncan presented the cup. Daveth sipped, the silver chalice gleaming with the moon's kiss. Lyra's stomach twisted with fear. When Daveth doubled at the waist, she gasped, watching in horror as he fell to his knees, shaking and sweating. A scream bubbled from his lips, a pain-wracked sound that sent chills racing over her skin. His eyes seemed to roll up into his head, giving him a blank, haunted countenance. Lyra darted a glance at Alistair, panic racing in her veins. He looked back at her, sadness darkening his face.

"He has paid the price now, rather than later. Daveth, we thank you for your sacrifice." Duncan stepped closer to the fallen man, making a few respectful gestures over his convulsing body. Daveth shuddered once, twice, then stilled completely, becoming an empty husk.

The senior Warden knelt and closed Daveth's empty eyes, then stood, turning back to the recruits. "Ser Jory, step forth."

Lyra's gaze shot to the knight. Naked terror pooled in Jory's eyes, and he began to stammer about honor, and deceit, and how if only he'd known... In a move of desperation, the man pulled his sword and swung at Duncan, babbling nonsense. Duncan spoke soothing words, but Ser Jory would not be comforted, and rushed the senior Warden. A fearful cry stilled on Lyra's lips when Duncan produced a shining, crescent-shaped dagger, ending Ser Jory's life with one smooth, upward thrust. "I am sorry..." he whispered into Ser Jory's ear. The knight's mouth hung open in disbelief. A small, wet sound came from his mouth, and he slid to the ground, Duncan's reddened blade buried within his gut.

Lyra was horrified. Dread moved her feet backward as choked breaths stuttered from her lungs. She'd only managed a single step when Alistair's hand caught the small of her back and held her firm.

"Lyra, step forth."

Her feet were leaden, her stomach churning. How could she do this, knowing she would likely die? Having seen the _kind_ of death hers would be? Could she bring that poison cup to her lips and drink such foul magic? Knowingly sign her own death warrant? Was it better to try and run, and have her end come quickly, on the clean end of a blade?

But then, she might _not_ die. Surely, some survived... Duncan and Alistair were the proof of that. _The Wardens_need_people_, a small voice echoed within her. _And it was Father's last request..._

She thought of her parents, holding tightly to each other as she fled down the tunnel. Oren's shining face. Oriana's laugh. Fergus, likely already hunted down.

Her fears calmed. What did she really have to hold her here?

She reached for the cup and tipped its contents into her mouth, gladly, willingly. If death came for her, so be it.

Thick, viscous, the taste was foul beyond imagining - her eyes flew open, and she nearly lost the contents of her stomach right then and there. But some primal instinct took hold, and she drained the bowl, her body demanding every drop. The chalice tumbled from her fingers, falling unnoticed to the stones below.

For a moment, there was nothing... and then she ignited. Fire coursed through her veins, ice water chased behind, quenching the flames and turning her to steel. Her body was forged, ripped, battered and hammered. She felt herself _change_... she arced backward, and she stared into the night sky, taking in the thousands of stars and feeling them race to receive her. The world was more magnificent than she'd ever known... and then, as she faded, she heard Duncan's voice say, "Welcome, Grey Warden."

.oOo.

Alistair caught her as she slumped, hitching her up into his arms.

"One, at least," Duncan said with a relieved breath. "Take her back to the fire, and lay her down - she'll awaken soon. I'll take care of the others."

Nodding, Alistair did as he was bade, easing the unconscious woman down onto the thin blanket that made her bedroll, wishing he had something to pillow her head with. Once Lyra was as comfortable as he could make her, he stood and hurried back to Duncan.

"No, you needn't, Alistair," Duncan said when he began to gather Daveth's body. "Go back and sit with her... I'll have a few other Wardens come to help me with their pyres."

A full-grown mabari hound had plopped himself down beside Lyra, looking every bit as menacing as one of the breed should. Alistair paused when he walked back into the fire circle, slowed by the dog's growl.

Though he'd never had a mabari, he'd always wanted one. The dogs chose their own masters, however, and none had ever seen fit to choose Alistair. But that didn't mean he knew nothing about how to handle one. Legend claimed that mabari were intelligent enough _not_ to talk, and that they understood speech better than most humans. He decided an introduction was in order.

"Um... I'm Alistair, one of her fellow Wardens," he began.

The dog stared.

Feeling a touch silly, Alistair took a cautious step closer, and this time there was no growl warning him back. "Wish I could ask your name. Your mistress?" Alistair asked, gesturing to Lyra.

The dog barked.

"She'll wake up in a while. Promise. Are you hungry?" He made his slow way to the fire, the mabari's eyes trained on his every movement. Dishing up a portion of stew, he set it nearby, then backed off again with his own bowl.

After a bit, the beast left Lyra's side to wolf down his dinner, then padded over to Alistair and sniffed. Alistair held still, well aware of how quickly he could be made into mincemeat if the dog decided such an action was necessary. But then the dog nosed his hand, working Alistair's fingers over his ear with a suggestive _whuff_. Alistair chuckled, obliging the animal with a thorough ear-scratching, and then the mabari sighed and curled up beside Lyra once more.

So the time passed as Duncan and a few others took Jory and Daveth away to be ceremonially cremated. A pinch of their ashes would be added to the pouch of Warden ashes Duncan carried, and taken to Weisshaupt when Duncan left for his Calling - which, according to the senior Warden, wasn't all that far off.

Alistair didn't like lingering on thoughts like these, though. He'd finally found a place in the world where he felt he belonged, and that was with the Wardens. The idea that his newfound world could change in any way terrified him.

Duncan returned soon after, joining him in his vigil. He said nothing about the dog, though he did nod hello. Unless Alistair was very much mistaken, the dog nodded back.

"Two more deaths. Only one of us died at my Joining," Alistair said sadly.

"I knew she would make it through. She's the best I have seen since... well, since you, my boy," Duncan replied.

.oOo.

Lyra awoke sometime later, lying on her own bedroll. Her eyes drifted open, then closed again, her head spinning. Duncan peered down at her from her left, and Alistair from her right, both of them studying her. It was unnerving, knowing she was being inspected like an insect under glass. She felt the gentle touch of a damp cloth sponging her forehead, and forced her eyes open again.

"You're awake... how do you feel?" The junior Warden's voice was worried.

"Like a carriage ran me over," she groaned, then forced herself to sit up, the pain in her head fading as she came fully awake. "But I'm alive." Her heart jumped, and suddenly she was intensely aware of everything; the moonlight filtering down, the hard ground beneath her bedroll, the silken air caressing her skin. The heavenly aroma of stew filled her nostrils, and her mouth watered with longing. She'd been so certain she wouldn't wake up, and it was exhilarating to know that she'd made it through!

Duncan nodded in understanding, a gentle smile touching his lips. "You _are_ alive. Alistair, the Oath."

Alistair reached into a pouch at his belt and came up with something small, then pressed it into her palm. It was oddly warm, and she opened her hand to see a tiny glass vial threaded on black leather cording.

"We take a bit of the Darkspawn blood and put it in a pendant. To remind you of how you got here, and of the ones who didn't make it as far. We call it the 'Warden's Oath'," Alistair offered.

Lyra pressed her free hand to her forehead, attempting to clear the fog that had crept over her mind. For some reason, the only response that came to mind was, "We've only just met, Alistair. You shouldn't be giving me jewelry." Her mouth quirked with humor.

His brows shot skyward, and he bit back a snicker, eyes sparkling with appreciation. Duncan chuckled. "I think she's just fine."

"Yes, I am. I'll get up. Did anyone think to make dinner? I'm absolutely starved." The cord untied easily enough, and Lyra fastened it around her neck. It felt different - but then, so did she.

"Yes, there is food by the fire there. Help yourself. Alistair, will you stay with her? I need to meet with Cailan and Loghain." Without waiting for a reply, Duncan left them.

Kestrel yelped, dancing in eagerness and lifting his paws as she came toward the fire.

She knelt with a happy grin. "Hey, boy! I'm just fine, don't you worry about me..." Lyra frisked the dog's ears, giggling when he tried to knock her over. Alistair crouched by the fire and stirred the pot of stew, sending up another waft of scent that made her stomach gnaw itself.

"He's yours, I take it?" Alistair asked as he filled two trenchers with beef and onions. "I always wanted a mabari. What's his name?"

"Kestrel." Lyra brushed off her hands. She accepted the trencher he handed her, hurrying to take a mouth-scorching bite. _Sweet Maker_... So hot it burned her tongue, the meat greasy and low-grade, the bread undoubtedly day-old... but she doubted she'd ever tasted anything half as delicious.

"Interesting name for a dog. Isn't a kestrel a kind of bird?"

She stopped eating and eyed Alistair warily, then gazed at her lap. A piece of onion lost its tenuous balance and flopped onto her leg, and she slowly picked it up and popped it into her mouth.

Alistair's mouth was full, his enjoyment of the food apparently as great as her own. His eyes were friendly as he waited for her answer, unaware of the inner struggle she'd just completed.

_I can't pretend it didn't happen_, she thought. _There will be reminders every day, and no one will be able to talk to me if I insist on ignoring the fact that my family is gone... He means well. Answer him, damnit._Coming to a decision, she spoke. "Yes, it is, I suppose. My brother Fergus had his own hawk, but he wanted a hound. So, he named the bird 'Mabari'. A few years later, I got Kestrel... and so I named him, 'Kestrel'. It was sort of a joke between us."

Alistair lowered the trencher, his forehead furrowing. "Lyra, I'm sorry. I... I had no idea earlier when I asked you about your family, and I brought up all of... well, everything. Duncan told me what happened, and... damn. I feel like the biggest fool in Ferelden. I can't tell you how sorry I am, for... for what happened to you, and for opening my big, stupid mouth. I don't mean to be an idiot, but it seems like I can't be anything else. I hope you'll forgive me... I don't want us to get off on the wrong foot."

She'd stopped eating to listen to his little speech, but then her hunger demanded attention and she took another voracious bite. Alistair dug back into his food as well, some of the stress leaving his eyes now that he'd spoken his piece. Lyra concentrated on her food for a moment, ending by licking the drippings from her fingers.

"You were like this when you were a child, too. I remember," she said.

He looked up in surprise, a dribble of gravy running down his chin. "You said you didn't remember-"

"Awkward. That's the thing that I remember most about you. Awkward...and the hair. I've never seen hair like yours before. It's quite nice, really. Sort of a lovely blonde-red color." She brushed crumbs from her hands. "You've got something - just there."

Alistair flushed, bringing his arm up to swipe his chin mostly clean. "I'm... awkward?"

She stood. "But sweet." With a mischievous smile, she sauntered away, Kestrel trotting at her heels. The thought of the bewildered expression on Alistair's face was enough to coax a much-needed laugh from her throat.


	6. The First Battle

**Chapter 5****  
><strong>The First Battle<strong>**

Scooping the last forkful of fried egg into her mouth, Lyra thumbed a dribble of yolk from the corner of her lip, feeling a touch self-conscious. Her eyes searched the pan Duncan had used, hoping to find... _something_ more. Despite the four eggs and generous chunk of bread she'd already downed, she still wasn't full.

Alistair must have seen her longing look, for he whistled, snagging her attention as he tossed a chunk of cheese wrapped in brown paper at her. She snatched it out of the air, grinning her thanks at him. The two of them had stayed up quite late the night before, talking. It had been nice to discover that they got on rather well together. And that he wasn't nearly as tactless as she'd originally thought.

"Thanks. I'm just so hungry! I don't understand it... I was never like this before. My mother always said I ate like a bird - by which she meant not very much at all."

"That's one thing that changes after the Joining. You'll never eat a small meal again, I promise you that. What's funny is that now, you really _do_ eat like a bird - meaning, more than you should be able to hold for your own body weight, and very frequently!" Snickering, Alistair turned back to his own food.

Duncan said nothing as he leaned over the pan once more, simply offering Lyra a quiet smile. He cracked three more eggs into the sizzling bacon grease, tipping them onto her waiting plate a few moments later.

"So, then. What's on today's agenda?" Alistair asked, setting his plate down for Kestrel to lick clean.

"Actually, I was about to bring that up, as soon as Lyra finished." Duncan's eyes twinkled as he watched her tear another hunk from the loaf she and Alistair had been sharing. "There is a war council this morning, and King Cailan has requested your presence, Lyra."

"What about me, Duncan?" Alistair asked, cleaning his hands with a handkerchief. He'd pulled it from the pouch at his waist, the same place he'd retrieved the cheese from moments ago. For some reason, this amused Lyra - a common soldier, who carried a handkerchief? _He does keep himself well,_ she thought. Once again his hair had been carefully styled, and he'd shaved. All signs of yesterday's stubble had been scraped away but for a small patch on his chin, which couldn't seem to decide if it wanted to grow or not.

"Not this time, Alistair. But you already know most of it, and we'll soon catch you up on the rest, never fear."

"Fine." Alistair adopted a martyred expression, heaving a huge sigh. "I didn't want to spend all day in council, anyway... I know! I'll take Kestrel hunting. What do you say, boy?"

Kestrel jumped up with a bark, wagging his short, stubby tail. Lyra was surprised at how much of a shine her mabari had already taken to Alistair. Kestrel was normally more picky about his mistress's companions; it had taken years for him to accept Rory.

_But then, maybe_ _it's merely a sign that he has the capacity to be a very good friend_. She watched Kestrel and Alistair jog from the camp, her thoughts following them out into the woods. When she'd finished her eggs and Duncan gestured for her to accompany him, it was with a sigh of longing that she wished she'd been able to go with them.

.oOo.

The council devoured most of the day, and was boring enough to put a scholar to sleep. Hours were spent eviewing maps, talking about territory, figuring out angles, and discussing wind resistance. What puzzled Lyra was it all seemed to have been said before; this was nothing more than a big rehash. But, she'd never been part of a war council. Perhaps this was standard. Teyrn Loghain seemed to know what he was doing, which gave her a measure of relief.

The scouts had brought back word that if there was to be a battle, tonight would be the night. Darkspawn activity brewed to the south, and troop movements were being coordinated. Lyra's stomach knotted up to hear this, but she supposed her first battle would have to come sometime.

_I wanted this_, she scolded herself. _I begged Father to let me go with Fergus. You got your wish, Lyra. Now isn't the time to be squeamish._ She swallowed, banishing the lump that rose in her throat at the memory of her father. There would be time enough to mourn after dark, in the safety and quiet of her own bedroll. She'd not disgrace herself, or the memory of her parents, by looking weak in front of these hardened veterans.

Her stomach gave an unladylike rumble, and Lyra flushed, wondering if anyone else had heard it. This new appetite was unrelenting, and frankly unnerving. All of her life, she'd looked at her food and not wanted it - now, she couldn't get enough. Alistair had pulled the cheese from a pouch at his waist... she wondered where she might get one like his. In that moment, she'd have given just about anything for a pouch of jerky at her belt.

"These Grey Wardens are not worthy of such trust, Cailan." Loghain's words brought her away from her stomach and back to the meeting. "You live in a fantasy world. You cannot give so much power to one group - it will mean your death." Loghain stared around at those assembled as he spoke, meeting the eyes of each.

"I have trust in them because they are heroes. Who better to lead us into this battle than the famed Grey Wardens? Now, if only the Archdemon would show himself... then we would have something worthy of the tales!"

Lyra's ears perked up. _Archdemon_... she tried to remember Alistair mentioning that.

"I say again, Cailan, these Grey Wardens are dangerous." Loghain's voice was strong and insistent. "You are foolish to trust them with so much. My men will enter the battle when the signal is lit, and you may be sure we will finish it."

"The beacon must be lit, yes? We'll send our best to do it. Duncan, have Lyra and Alistair take that duty." Cailan beamed at her, and Lyra smiled back, quirking an eyebrow when he looked away. Light the beacon? Would that mean being out of the battle?

The council ended shortly thereafter, and they found Alistair awaiting them back at their fire. Dusk approached, bringing with it a smattering of dark clouds and rapidly chilling weather. Early spring wind whipped at the few trees, scattering the clumped remnants of autumn leaves revealed after the melt. Loghain's meeting had lasted most of the day and now the camp was all a-jumble, everyone scurrying to prepare for the horns to blow.

Duncan dispatched a few runners to the other Wardens, then pulled Lyra and Alistair aside, explaining Cailan's directive. The two of them would scale the Tower of Ishal, lighting the beacon to signal Loghain's men.

"What? We won't be in the battle?" Alistair looked incredulous. "Anyone can throw a torch into a tinder pile... why in Thedas would Cailan want us to do it?"

Duncan shook his head. "He said we would send our best, and that was his reasoning. Alistair, it's an important job, and-"

"Yes, well. Bully for us." Alistair rolled his eyes, seeming disgusted.

Lyra spoke up. "Duncan, it's as Alistair says - it isn't difficult to light the beacon. I'm sure I can do it alone, and then you would have one more Grey Warden in the battle."

"No, my dear. Both of you will go." Duncan's face was stern. Lyra nodded, unwilling to push the issue further. Orders were orders.

Alistair sighed noisily. "Fine. But just so's you know, if Cailan asks me to put on a dress and dance the Remigold, I'm drawing the line."

Lyra's eyebrows shot up as she pictured the muscular young man in a dress dancing the northern jig, and a giggle burst from her lips.

Alistair grinned at her, then leaned over. "I'd do it for you... but it would have to be a pretty dress," he whispered, his eyes sparkling. She snorted with mirth, clapping a hand over her mouth. Kestrel whined, then shook himself with a _whuff_. Duncan raised his eyes to the sky, muttering something about patience and young fools.

The first horn sounded, and Duncan said, "You should go. Be ready. You'll know when." He clapped a hand on Alistair's shoulder, then smiled at Lyra as he turned to go.

"Duncan," Alistair called, his jovial eyes growing serious. The elder Warden turned. "Maker's blessing on you."

"Maker's blessing on us all," Duncan replied in a voice soft and graveled. His liquid eyes shone with pride, and he strode away.

.oOo.

Thunder rumbled, and the first smattering drops fell as the third horn sounded. From the edge of the stone ramparts atop the bridge, Lyra and Alistair watched with wide eyes as the horde flowed toward them, a foul tide that reeked of death. Alistair grimaced as they came, appearing a bit green around the gills. At her curious look, he shrugged. "Darkspawn sense... there's an awful lot of them down there. Thousands."

"Will I be able to... feel them?" she asked, apprehensive.

"Eventually," he said, his attention returning to the field below. Lyra focused as best she could through the murk - it was like peering through soup. Vaguely, she made out the empty strip of land that separated the human army from the beastly one; each group held back by an invisible barrier, awaiting the moment they would crash together in the hopes of obliterating the foe.

The tension grew, thrumming as tightly as a harp string, twisting Lyra's stomach. She held her breath.

A long, low blast rent the air, and the barrier broke. The armies charged each other, red murder in their voices, their blades thirsting for blood.

Archers lining the bridge loosed bolts into the gathering darkness below. Over the noise of the wind and rain Alistair shouted instructions, his voice drowning in the sea of sound. "The battle's beginning, we need to go! Now!"

Lyra pushed back from the low wall, urging her feet to move. The tower lay on the other side of the bridge, and-

A sudden shout from her companion, and Alistair's arm wrapped around her waist, spilling her to the earth with a sharp intake of breath. An explosion rocked the ground, the chunk of bridge Lyra had been headed for evaporating with the force of the boulder that had smashed through the stone. Kestrel yelped and danced, his frightened yips speeding Lyra's heart.

"We have to hurry - I don't know how much longer the bridge will last!" Alistair shouted in her ear, releasing her from his hold. She nodded, struggling to tame her racing pulse as she climbed to her feet. One mad dash later the three of them were across and running up the steps to the Tower of Ishal. They were met at the gate by a young soldier and a mage, the two of them panting for breath and quivering with fear.

"Wardens!" the mage gasped. "The tower has been overrun!"

"Overrun? What are you talking about, man? Spit it out!" Alistair's eyes hardened.

"Darkspawn! We are overcome!" the soldier wailed. Lyra felt a flush of annoyance. Why was he whining, instead of killing the blasted things? As vile as they were, the creatures died just like anything else. She glanced at Alistair, and he gave a terse nod.

"Let's go." Lightning split the sky as Lyra raced toward the tower, with Kestrel and Alistair close behind.

.oOo.

"I don't understand! How did they get in?" Alistair panted, sheathing his sword. The two of them were splattered with gore.

Lyra pulled her dagger from a Darkspawn corpse, planting her foot on its chest to aid the removal. Shuddering, she eyed the dripping blade, then muttered her thanks to Alistair when he handed her the handkerchief from his pouch. With careful fingers, she wiped the black blood from its surface as best she could before sheathing it and handing the cloth back to her companion. "I thought you were disappointed that we wouldn't be fighting."

Alistair gave a short laugh. "Right. Be careful what you wish for, and all that." Sheathing his sword, he glanced around the room, a curious look brightening his eyes. "Is that a chest over there?" He jogged to the corner of the chamber, and Lyra followed. "It is - it looks like a storage cabinet. The chantry stocked chests like this. Usually they were filled with healing poultices. Damn, I wish we had the key. If that's what's in here, it would be bound to come in handy..." Alistair trailed off in surprise as his companion pulled a small tool from her waistband. After a moment of fiddling with the lock, it snapped open, and Lyra tossed it aside. She flipped open the chest with barely a glance at him, pawing eagerly through it.

"You were right, healing poultices. Plenty of them. This should see us through the Blight and then some..." she joked, and began filling her pack. When Alistair said nothing, she looked up at him. "What are you staring at?" He didn't answer, and she said impatiently, "Did you want some poultices or not?"

He blinked, then knelt beside her to fill his own pack. "How does a teyrn's daughter learn to pick locks?"

She grinned at him. "Is that the beginning of some bad joke? I'll explain later, after we light the beacon."

With this Alistair would have to be content, for Lyra knotted her pack, slung it over her shoulder and strode off toward the staircase.

.oOo.

Lyra's eyes squinched shut, a thin hiss slipping between her teeth. Her shoulder screamed in agony. She'd taken a nasty tumble, nearly wrenching the bone from its socket. Kestrel was limping, and even Alistair seemed to be on his last legs. But they'd nearly reached the beacon, and if what her companion said was true, their greatest challenge lay just ahead.

"Ready?" he asked, shooting her a glance.

"As I'll ever be," she gritted, rolling her aching shoulder.

As one, they burst through the doors, charging into the final room at the top of the tower. Like a nightmare made real, the monster that awaited them hunched in the darkness, filling the room with its own brand of terror.

A huge creature with purple skin crouched in the corner... eating... something. A very messy, very... _bloody_ something. Huge, curling horns sprouted from either side of its head, and even from across the room Lyra could smell the creature, so rank was its odor.

"So that's an ogre," Lyra breathed, her heart pounding as muscles tensed in preparation. Adrenaline sang in her veins.

"Scared?" Alistair muttered.

"No," Lyra shot back, her eyes darting sideways. "You?"

"Are you kidding?" Alistair shifted his grip on his sword. "I'm terrified."

Perhaps it heard them, for the ogre turned then, letting out a roar loud enough to wake an Archdemon. Flecks of crimson flew from the swollen lips, bits of flesh and bone torn from the unfortunate creature it had been feasting on. Dull yellow eyes gleamed with evil intent; stupid as the ogre looked, it hardly needed to be smart to crush them to pulp. It straightened, rising up to its full height.

Alistair charged forward, leading with his shield. "_For the Grey Wardens!_" she heard him cry, and then she was rushing forward with him, her injured shoulder forgotten. Slipping around the ogre's back, she slashed at the massive legs, hoping to hamstring the creature. But it took off in a running charge, and she gasped as Alistair was grazed. He staggered, crashing to the ground as his shield spun from him arm with the force of the blow. A gasp of pain from her fellow, and he winced, gripping his wrist and flexing his fingers.

_His arm's gone numb,_ Lyra realized. The ogre turned back to him, snorting like an enraged bull. Senseless fury twisted its hateful visage as it bent over to scream in Alistair's face. He scrambled back, his useless arm cradled against his chest as he lifted his sword in a useless show of defense.

A shriek of righteous fury left her lips as Lyra sped forward, daggers upraised. A convenient bit of broken planking acted as her springboard, and she catapulted herself through the air. Twisting her body, she landed, unbalanced, on the ogre's shoulders. The beast bellowed in annoyance, its meaty hands scrabbling at the plucky creature who dared such a maneuver.

Lyra clung, slipping backward with a muted gasp. Lifting one dagger, she plunged it downward, grimacing as the blade severed skin and muscle. A hot gout of blood rushed forth when she pulled it free, her perch growing ever more slippery. The ogre roared again, thrashing and spinning. Lyra hauled herself up, her shoulder in flames, one leg throwing itself around the ogre's neck in a death grip. Both hands free now, she slammed her blades once more into the nape of the neck, severing the spinal cord with a vicious twist and wrench.

Not a sound echoed as the ogre toppled, crumbling beneath her like a rotten tree. The very stones of the tower shuddered with the impact, and Lyra leapt from the dead body with a triumphant look back at her companion.

Alistair hardly looked up as he massaged his shield arm. "Well done. Let's light the beacon."

_Well done? Is that all you have to say? _Lyra thought, irked. He might have thanked her, or admired the handy way she'd dispatched a creature four times her own size. After a feat like that, those blasé words were all he had for her? Equality was one thing, but that was ridiculous.

Moments later, after the brazier had been coaxed into flame, she thought to comment on his seemingly unimpressed attitude.

"Just 'well done', then?" she asked.

Alistair looked up in surprise. "Well, yes," he said. "Job well done." He went back to his shield, fastening it to his arm once more. "I think I'm okay. Arm's recovering."

She rolled her eyes and went to retrieve her pack from the entrance, where they'd tossed them in their haste to attack the ogre. Gathering Alistair's pack as well, she trudged past the huge corpse to offer it to him. He was just shouldering his burden when a _crash_from the doorway whipped her head around.

Though the broken door poured a flood of Darkspawn, their leering faces chilling her blood. Lyra barely had time to draw her blades before she was overwhelmed...


	7. Wild Witches

**Chapter 6****  
><strong>Wild Witches<strong>**

_A blackened scream shattered the walls of her mind, curdled by tinges of eerie green light. Shadows flickered, sucking the sun from the world, and her chest heaved as she panted for breath. Fear suffused her, a nameless terror that coated the back of her tongue as every bone in her body trembled with the need to_run_. Yet her limbs wouldn't move; she'd frozen as surely as a rabbit facing down a blight wolf. But this was no wolf that had come for her..._

_This was a dragon._

_Larger than life, its scales slicked with poison, it crouched upon a ruined landscape, the last living thing in a world torn asunder by flame and claw. Its sinuous gaze slithered over her, and there could be no doubt - she was to be its final victim..._

Gasping awake, Lyra bolted up, heart stuttering in her chest. Her wild eyes darted around the room as she struggled to remember just where she was.

Packed earthen walls surrounded her, the room's scant light provided by a few steadily-burning candles slowly melting upon a short table. She'd been tucked into bed, though it was a bed unlike any she'd seen. Leather stretched tightly across a wooden frame composed her mattress, made cozy with a sinful cushion of sultry furs. Across the way, a low fire guttered in a stone hearth, and though it was difficult to make out, she could have sworn she spotted a skull among the many bowls, bottles and piles of herbs that littered one table.

The sound of a throat clearing, and Lyra startled again, realizing she was not alone. Her head whipped toward the voice, and she blinked, taking in the beautiful woman who sauntered toward her.

"Ah, you are awake. 'Tis two days since you came here. Mother will be most pleased."

Lyra flushed with embarrassment as she clutched the blanket around her nudity. But for smallclothes, she'd been stripped. Even her breast-band was gone. She peered at the woman, cudgeling her memory. "Morrigan?"

"You remember. Yes, you are in my mother's house. Do you recall how you came to be here?" Morrigan sat upon the bed, and Lyra's instincts urged her to draw her knees in.

"I remember the battle... and I remember killing the ogre... and after that..."

"The darkspawn swarmed the stairs, intending to slaughter anything left alive. Undoubtedly, you would have died in that tower. My mother rescued you, and healed your wounds."

"How?"

"She turned herself into a giant bird and plucked the two of you from the rooftop like dead mice. If you do not believe me, ask her." Seeming bored, Morrigan rose and returned to the fire where a pot of something delicious simmered, wafting a heavenly aroma throughout the tiny hut.

An insistent growl broke the quiet as Lyra's stomach made its wants known. Morrigan's eyes slanted in her direction, an amused quirk lifting one corner of her sultry mouth. Wordlessly, the witch filled a bowl from the cauldron, and Lyra accepted it with gratitude. Such was her hunger that she abandoned all thought of a spoon and simply brought the bowl to her lips. Her fingers served well enough to pull in chunks of meat and vegetables made tender by a rich gravy.

"This is delicious... what is it?" she asked through her mouthful.

"Skunk, carrot and dandelion." The witch's lip curled again, this time in anticipation.

Lyra rolled a piece of meat over her tongue in shock, then her hunger decided that it really didn't taste bad. It was better than starvation, that was certain, so she swallowed her trepidation with the meat and continued to shovel the food in.

"Your friend is outside. You should dress and go to him as soon as you're able. He is acting an utter moron," Morrigan commented.

"My friend. You mean Alistair?" Lyra's heart leapt. He was alive?

"I mean the whiny boy who can't stop blubbering for three minutes about how alone he is in the world."

Forgetting her nudity, Lyra set down the stew bowl and threw back the coverlet, then pulled it over herself again when she realized she had no clue where her clothing was. "Uh-"

An exasperated sigh left Morrigan's lips, and the witch pointed an impatient finger toward a trunk at the foot of the bed. Turning her back, she folded her arms as she waited for Lyra to dress, the set of her shoulders speaking volumes. Clearly, the woman thought her inhibitions ridiculous.

Blushing, Lyra scooted from the bed and dug into the trunk, finding the linen shift she normally wore beneath her armor and pulling it over her head. Not bothering with anything else lest Morrigan start snapping at her, she stepped from the hut, inhaling sharply at the chill morning air.

A reedy swamp opened before her, colorless in the pale light. The small lake rippled with silvery sparkles, and she squinted against the blinding brightness. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust before she spotted Alistair seated on a log at a small fire near the water's edge.

He was exhausted; this was plain to see in the set of his shoulders, and Lyra wondered if he'd slept at all. Kestrel was at his side, his hand gently stroking the mabari's head. Her bare feet numbed at the earth's icy caress, and she shivered as she padded over the spongy ground.

Kestrel saw her first, and to her surprise he remained at Alistair's side, whining softly at her. She caught a glimpse of the man's profile - haggard, lined, as though death itself haunted him. Little wonder her dog was worried.

"Alistair," she said, laying her hand on his shoulder.

He startled at her touch, turning around. Pale as a ghost, his breath caught at the sight of her, and he rose, strong arms trapping her in their warm embrace before she could say another word. "You're alive," he whispered.

Lyra blinked, taken aback at his open display, but after a breath she returned his desperate hug, squeezing him gently as he trembled in her arms. Was he... crying?

His hold tightened, and suddenly she was crying, too; in relief that it was over, in happiness that they'd made it through, in wonderment that someone she'd barely known four days should care whether she lived or died. Then the floodgates opened, and her heart began pouring tears onto his shoulder. She cried for Mother, for Father, for Fergus, Oren, Oriana, Rory... the list seemed never ending. Highever, burned... What had she _not_ lost?

There was no telling how long they remained locked in their embrace, finding strength in each other. Eventually, Alistair shifted away, a self-conscious flush darkening his cheeks. Reluctantly, Lyra released him, laughing a bit as she dragged a hand across her tear stained cheeks.

"Oh, um..." Alistair dug in his belt pouch, coming up with a handkerchief and holding it out.

Another watery laugh tumbled from her lips as she took it from him, sniffling. "Are you always this chivalrous?" she murmured.

"Only when I see women crying," he offered, one corner of his mouth turning upward.

She blotted her eyes, then blew her nose. Crying _always_ made her nose run. "I'll launder this for you. I doubt you want it back in its present state."

Alistair gave her an uneasy smile and ran a hand over his hair. "I'm _so_ glad to see you. Morrigan's mother told me you would be alright, but one day passed, and then another, and I was losing hope that you would wake up."

She sniffled again, giving a damp chuckle muffled by the handkerchief. "It takes more than Darkspawn to get rid of me, I'm afraid," she said with a small smile.

"I'm glad." Alistair sat down again near his fire. "Do you want to put on anything more... well, _more,_ before we talk? I need to tell you what happened while you were out."

Lyra considered, then sat beside him on the log near the fire, adjusting her tunic to cover her knees. "It will warm up quickly as the fog burns off. What happened with the battle? Did we get the beacon lit in time?"

Alistair eyed her bare feet, then reached into his pack and brought out a pair of thick, gray woolen socks. He offered them to her, and she quirked a brow. Alistair was concerned... about her feet. When she didn't take them right away, he tossed them in her lap with an expectant look. She giggled, then gave in, unrolling them and sliding them over her ankles. To her delight, his name had been stitched into them.

Satisfied with her concession to common sense, Alistair answered her question. "No. Or, maybe. But Loghain quit the field."

Lyra's heart stopped. "He... _why_?"

"Maker knows. Duncan... is dead. Cailan is dead. The Grey Wardens are gone."

"Gone? Just like that? Alistair, how can that be?"

"Every Grey Warden in Ferelden was on that field...except for you and me, of course. Without Loghain's troops, it was a rout. They were massacred."

Something hit home. "Duncan is dead? And... King Cailan?"

Alistair nodded. "Yes." He looked as if he might say more, but then his face crumpled, and he folded in on himself as a tight tremor wound through him.

Lyra found she was unsure of what to do. Never before had she seen such emotion in a man. Weeping and carrying on were womanly traits, things she did her best to avoid. But he wasn't _whining_, as Morrigan had said - Alistair was mourning, just as she was. Everything he'd loved had been lost on that field, and her heart went out to him. Their situations weren't so different.

She extended a tentative hand, intending on patting his back, but it occurred to her how ridiculous this gesture would be. He wasn't a child, and in his armor he'd barely feel it anyway.

Kestrel nudged his head beneath Alistair's hand, then swiped a rough tongue over the man's fingers. The dog looked to Lyra next, a pleading whine mirroring the request in his eyes. _Help him_, she could almost hear him say. Throwing Kestrel a desperate look, she held up her hands in helpless question. The mabari _glared_ at her, then bumped Alistair's hand again, giving her the clue she needed.

Wetting her lips nervously, she reached out and took his hand, the soothing slide of warm flesh easing the tight knot in her chest. Alistair didn't look up, just gripped her fingers as if his life depended on it. After a long moment the tension bled from his shoulders, leaving him loose and tired. Another few heartbeats, and he opened his eyes, meeting her concerned look with a nod and a swallow.

Lyra hadn't realized how comforting human contact could be, and she almost regretted it when Alistair eased her hand from his own with the ghost of a smile. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I shouldn't lose control like that. It's just that... he was... like a father to me." The words seemed difficult, and Alistair took another moment before continuing. "I can't believe he's gone. I should have been there; I should have taken the blow."

Lyra shook her head, unable to answer, but certain that it was much, much better that Alistair hadn't died with his brothers.

"I don't know what to do, or where to go from here. Somehow, we've got to stop the Archdemon, or all of Thedas will be destroyed." Alistair raked an agitated hand through his hair, standing it on end. "There's so much... we should notify Arl Eamon of Cailan's death, or Loghain will likely tell any story he likes." His voice cracked with strain.

That triggered a memory, and Lyra spoke up. "Loghain... he was very insistent at the war council. Quite vocal about what a fool Cailan was to trust the Grey Wardens. Do you think we could have won the battle if Loghain hadn't left?"

"From Morrigan's account, I'd say it's likely. Quitting the field, though - it was a death sentence." Alistair's forehead crinkled. "You think Loghain had this planned?"

"I don't know. There's too little information right now. But it's worth investigating."

"Why would he do that?" Alistair seemed flabbergasted, rubbing his temple as the implications of what Lyra suggested washed over him.

"Power. Same reason anyone does anything," Lyra growled. "He's in a pretty position now, if that was his intention."

Alistair shook his head. "But the Blight... it doesn't matter who sits on the throne. If the Archdemon isn't stopped there won't _be_ a throne of Ferelden to fight over. That should be our first concern." He took a deep breath, looking hopeful. "Any suggestions?"

"For stopping the Blight?" Alistair nodded in answer, and Lyra thought. "We can't do it alone, right?"

The man snorted. "Not a chance."

"Then we need help. Who can we call on? Do the Grey Wardens have friends? Allies?"

A wry look flitted over Alistair's face, but then his eyes opened wide. "Of course! The Grey Warden Treaties! Centuries ago, the dwarves, elves and mages signed treaties with the Grey Wardens, promising to aid them in the case of a Blight. We can go to them and demand aid. Lyra, we aren't alone after all!" He stood, scooped her into an embrace and spun her around, laughing.

Lyra gasped with surprise, throwing her arms around his neck as they whirled, but a moment later she was laughing with him, enjoying his exuberance. It seemed that when Alistair felt something, he _felt_it... apparently, there was no halfway with him.

"Warden, you're brilliant." He set her down with a happy sigh. "We can go to Arl Eamon, as well... I'm sure he'll aid us. His armies were delayed; he wasn't at Ostagar. In fact, maybe we should go see him first..." Alistair let the words trail away, seeming unsure. His shoulders lifted, and he dropped down again, picking up a stick to poke at the fire. "I actually don't really know what we should do first. That's one reason I was so relieved to see you just now."

A smile tickled Lyra's mouth as she sat beside him. "Were you relieved? Oh, I didn't know." She gave him a sidelong grin and tugged her tunic over her exposed knees again, glad for the heavy socks he'd given her.

Alistair grinned back. "So I got a little enthusiastic. But..." his tone turned serious. "I couldn't stand the thought of being alone. With this. This... task, that's been set before us. Like I said, I have no idea what to do first, where to go, who to talk to, if they'll take me seriously..." One hand found the back of his neck, his turmoil plain to see. "It's just... I've never had much responsibility, not like this. Aren't you scared of it?"

Lyra was surprised. "No... I mean, not really, I suppose. But I always knew I would have to lead in one capacity or another. Being my father's daughter _meant_responsibility. Whether I became the teyrn after him, or was given command of his armies - or even, heaven forbid, got married to some fool who expected me to run his household and prepare banquets…." She gave a short laugh. "Not that that ever felt very likely to me."

Alistair crossed his arms and leaned them on his knees, keen interest lighting his eyes. "You didn't want to get married?"

"Marriage... Um. That's a loaded question," she laughed.

"You don't have to answer," he hastened to reply. "I just... think it's interesting. I thought women liked getting married."

"Most women do, so I've heard... well, I guess there's no harm in an honest answer. I don't suppose I have to be as diplomatic with you as I had to be in Highever." She shifted her weight slightly. "Being a teyrn's daughter meant I had no lack of suitors. All were rich, came from good families, and you could say they were handsome. But... they were all so dull!" she chuckled. "It drove my mother to distraction, my lack of interest. She was eager for me to marry and provide her with more grandchildren, carry on the Cousland name and all that." Her eyes clouded a little at this statement, then cleared. "My parents married for love, and it was the most wonderful thing. Being a noble... you see more than enough intrigue. There are constant scandals. A teyrna who finds her husband in another's bed, or an arl who discovers his wife has been tumbling the groom. All seek to increase their holdings, move themselves closer to the king's influence. It's like... this incredibly convoluted dance that I had no interest in learning the steps to."

"Sounds dreadful," Alistair commented. "But then, I can't dance."

Mirth turned up the corners of her mouth. "I can't, either. Not really... well, I sort of can, I guess. I'm not the best, though." Picking up a small twig in her fingers, she twirled it slowly as she talked. "Arranged marriage is simply a part of it. But my parents were very, very kind... my brother married for love, unbelievably - though he had to go to Antiva to do it," she laughed. "I had always hoped to do the same-"

"Go to Antiva?" Alistair piped up with a grin.

"Marry for love, genius," she teased. "As I was saying... As much as my mother pushed, my father was firm about it. I would be allowed to make my own decision. But seeing the type of people I was surrounded with... well. It didn't seem likely. Especially with my enjoyment of combat and knife work. Once a man saw my ability, he typically ran in the other direction. Either that, or he wasn't highly ranked enough to actually marry me." The memory of Rory Gilmore twisted her heart. "But here I am, educating you on the many charms of growing up noble when we have much more important things to discuss." She stood, smoothing the tunic down behind her as she brushed stray bits of bark from the linen. "I'll dress and we can make plans."

.oOo.

Alistair watched Lyra walk back toward the hut, his mind full of the conversation they'd just had. Interesting, to discover that even the noble set had problems. He'd often thought on the responsibilities that came with leadership, and it appealed _not at all_. Even now, in this small capacity, he struggled. Losing Duncan's competence was the worst thing that could have happened. Lyra was green as a baker's apple, and as for himself... bad things happened when he led. _Bad_ things.

He tossed a twig into the fire, reaching over to ruffle Kestrel's ears. The mabari yawned, then got up, trotting back toward the hut and pawing at the door. It opened a moment later, and Alistair caught a glimpse of Lyra's shadow. A smile played at the corners of his mouth as he recalled her lithe form appearing behind him, wrapped in nothing but a knee-length tunic the color of new wheat. Maker, didn't the woman know it was _cold_ outside? What had inspired her to wear so little?

She'd looked damned adorable in his socks, though.

Staring into the fire, he considered all she'd told him. Not wanting to get married for politics, wanting to find love. It was something he was familiar with, as well - though any choice at all had been denied to him. There was no opportunity even to _meet_a potential mate while growing up in the Chantry, and Grey Wardens didn't usually make lasting commitments.

_No lack of suitors..._ he thought, recalling her words. No, he didn't imagine she did. Though she'd spoken as if it was only her station the men had been interested in, he had a feeling she didn't really see herself for what she was. Of course, he might have been a bit biased. His memories of how they'd met in Redcliffe as children and the quick friendship they'd rekindled had him warming to her, perhaps too quickly. The dancing flames drew his vision, aiding his wandering mind and bringing him back to the way she'd looked as she sat beside him.

Dark hair, bound into those braids at the back of her neck. A bit severe, in his opinion. Just how long _was_ her hair, if it could create those spiraling rounds? A long, shapely neck, kissed by the leather cord her Warden's Oath dangled from. Her plain tunic did little to hide the contours of her body - she was lean, with just enough swell of hip and curve of thigh to leave no doubt of her femininity. _Thin_, though. Not a speck of fat on her; just smooth muscles and, yes, scars. It spoke of hours of training, drops of sweat shed in fierce competition with many, many others; probably most of them men. Thinking about it, he realized that Duncan had spoken truly - she was indeed a magnificent fighter. The way she'd slain the ogre... he wondered just how she'd made that leap. It was nothing short of amazing. Her legs were long and slender, yet well-muscled. _They would have to be_, he thought to himself.

Blue eyes, dark as the ocean... _silly, unnecessary thought._ Tanned face, cheeks ruddy with cold, though from wrist to ankle her skin shone lily-white. Alistair chuckled, recalling the noblewomen he'd observed in Denerim who covered every bit of exposed skin with gloves and veils and wide-brimmed hats. Not so for Lyra Cousland. _H_er mother likely had fits over it__, he grinned to himself. A wide nose, but not overwhelmingly so... just enough to give her face a sort of character. Red lips, curving into a natural upward crescent, and she seemed to have a small overbite, her top lip a bit fuller than the bottom one. A tiny mole - more like a lone freckle - on her chin, halfway between her neck and mouth, on the left side. A whitened scar on her jawline. All in all, a pleasing face, and certainly one that would have caught the eye of many a young man, with or without her rank.

Shaking his head, he picked up the stick and prodded the fire a bit more. Whatever he might think of her, she was out of his league, and pursuing her would be nothing more than a waste of time. For both of them.

_She deserves a prince_, he thought. _A real one._

.oOo.

Shortly after she'd dressed and having stolen another few bites of stew from the pot, Lyra went back outside to find Alistair speaking with Morrigan's mother. The old woman was... disorienting, to say the least. She seemed harmless at first glance - a small woman with straggly grey hair, dressed in a worn frock of sun-faded beige. Barefoot, too; her toes coated in filth, fingers stained with herbs and spotted with time. But her _eyes_... her eyes glowed, shimmering with unspent power. It was unnerving. Her aged voice snaked around them, slithery as a hissing serpent, and Lyra couldn't help quivering as she listened. By turns mocking, curious, and threatening, Morrigan's mother was a force Lyra had no desire to take on.

"Here she is now," the elder said with a sly grin. "Come, you need not be afraid. I mean you no harm... if I did, I would have just left you at the top of that tower. Come closer, dear," the old woman beckoned.

Forcing down her trepidation, Lyra stepped forward, dragging her unwilling feet as close as she dared. The old woman chuckled, a thin, reedy sound.

Behind her, Morrigan rolled her eyes as she crossed her arms. "Mother, these are not your playthings, and they need to be on their way."

"Yes, actually, we do need to go," Alistair agreed. "So we'll just gather our things, and-"

"Not so fast, young man. There's the little matter of my payment - for your rescue, healing, and board. We have yet to discuss terms."

Alistair and Lyra exchanged a glance. "Terms? Of payment?" Alistair's voice skipped up an octave, and then he slanted toward Lyra. "Have you got any money?"

The old woman cackled. "What would I do with gold, young man? Surely, both of you are not such fools, or I fear for the future of Ferelden." Her piercing eyes speared Lyra once more, and Lyra could have sworn that they glimmered golden. "Your future stretches out before you... I am eager to see what you do with it," she murmured cryptically. "But for now, my terms are thus. You will take Morrigan with you."

"I- what?" Morrigan sputtered. It was sort of funny to see her thus - the smooth talking witch didn't seem like one who flustered easily.

"You've wanted to get out of the wilds for years. Now's your chance. Besides which, they need you, Morrigan. Theirs is an impossible task, and without you, they will surely fail."

Lyra wondered at this. Did they truly seem so incompetent... or was their work truly so encompassing?

Alistair spoke up. "Not that I want to seem ungrateful... but I don't know if it's a good idea for us to have an apostate along with us. We'll be traveling through a lot of towns, and the Templars could easily discover her."

"Not if you don't turn her in." Morrigan's mother seemed entertained as she turned to the young Warden. "She knows how to blend in. I have taught her well."

Pursing his lips, Alistair shot a glance at the scantily clad witch. One perfect black eyebrow arched as she met his gaze, challenging him to speak. Neither seemed to like what they saw. The young beauty had draped her torso in wine-colored fabric which left little to the imagination - her neckline dipped to the waist, displaying a flat stomach and flawless white skin. Kohl smudged her tawny eyes, as if their unnatural color wasn't enough to brand them into your memory. Black feathers shimmering with blues and greens adorned one shoulder, but Lyra couldn't identify the bird they might have come from. Slender arms led to slender wrists, wound with cuffs of black leather and jade and amber beads. Two ornate silver rings adorned her right hand; one bearing a large jade stone, and one made of silver wire and more amber beads. Her perfect breasts offered teasing glimpses from beneath the thin material of her blouse; a series of leather thongs the only stays keeping the fabric on her body. A black leather skirt made of strips of various kinds of hides, stitched together and covered with buckles, and sturdy black boots completed her ensemble. Strapped to her back was a gnarled gray staff, for fighting or magic, Lyra could not say... but she rather suspected it was the latter.

"Can you cook?" Alistair broke their silent stare-off tactlessly. Lyra nearly kicked him.

"I... can cook, yes." Morrigan's heated eyes turned to frost. "I also have extensive knowledge of poultices and... poisons."

"That's alright, you don't have to cook," Lyra put in hastily.

Alistair groaned. "You missed your chance. Now it'll be nothing but charred rabbit from here on out," he muttered.

"I'll handle the food," she whispered in return.

"Morrigan, gather your things," the hag commanded. Huffing, the young witch turned and stalked into the hut, slamming the rickety door behind her. A somewhat strained moment followed, and Alistair kicked at the small tufts of grass beneath his feet. Morrigan's mother slitted her eyes at him, and Lyra grasped for something to say.

"I don't think I thanked you for healing me... in fact, I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name...?" she asked gingerly.

That frightening gaze pinned her once more. "Names are pretty, but useless. The Chasind people call me Flemeth... it will do."

_That_ got Alistair's attention. "Flemeth? _The_ Flemeth? But-"

"But I'm supposed to be hundreds of years old, and command a coven of witches who sacrifice virgins beneath a waning moon?" Enjoyment flickered over Flemeth's face. "Or perhaps you've heard the other legends? No matter, young man. I am as I appear... how you _see_me is something else entirely." The witch's eyes gleamed, and Lyra was reminded of a spider descending upon a hapless fly who'd had the misfortune of buzzing into her web.

The sound of the door drew everyone's attention, and Morrigan appeared from the hut, a small pack on her shoulders. "Farewell, Mother... do not neglect the fire. I would hate to return and find nothing but a charred ruin." Disdain dripped from her words. Hearing a young woman bid farewell to her only parent in such a manner felt _wrong_, and sent an apprehensive chill over Lyra's skin.

The old woman pursed her lips. "More likely you will find that everything, including me, has been swallowed up by the Blight. Even I am not proof against the Archdemon." Flemeth's voice was hard, and Morrigan's eyes widened.

"I... I only meant..." she stammered.

"I know what you meant, girl. Be on your way. Farewell, Grey Wardens... may you succeed in the task set before you, lest all of Ferelden perish." With that reassuring reminder, Flemeth ducked back into the hut, and Lyra let out a breath she hadn't been aware she was holding. She turned to Morrigan, who seemed to have put away her unease and returned to her cold mask of uncaring.

"So..." Lyra began with what she hoped was a bright smile. "Which way out of the wilds?"


	8. A Sister of Lothering

**Chapter 7  
>A Sister of Lothering<strong>

"So, Morrigan," Alistair began in a casual voice. "You're an apostate."

Lyra's eyes flicked back to her two new companions as they walked down the road. This didn't sound like it could go anywhere good.

Morrigan had led them through the Korcari Wilds in the direction of a small town called Lothering. She'd claimed she could get them around the bulk of the Darkspawn horde, and indeed, they'd had no trouble at all. Lothering was still perhaps an hour's walk distant, or so Morrigan claimed, along the smooth even road of the Imperial Highway.

"What a curious word you use to describe me. I've only heard it used by Templars, in the past. What I am is a mage, one who doesn't believe in being locked in a cage never to see the sun again." Morrigan's voice was haughty.

"Apostate is the word for it, then. It's not only a Templar word... that's what you are."

"You_ know _what I am. The words you choose will not change me. What is the point of this conversation?" Morrigan sounded annoyed.

"Nothing. Just... when we get to Lothering, we should be careful."

"A brilliant plan, Warden. If I'd only thought of it before _you _came along," Morrigan said, sarcasm dripping from her words.

"Well, I'm just saying... oh, fine. Be that way," Alistair huffed. A tiny smile teased the corners of Lyra's mouth. The bickering was... sort of funny.

A few moments of silence, and then Alistair spoke up again. "I'm not stupid, y'know."

"No? Thank you for telling me, because it was not at _all _evident."

"I went to school in the Chantry. They don't make stupid people."

"You've done a fine job of it all on your own. I agree completely." Morrigan's voice was patronizing.

At this point, Lyra didn't see how she could remain silent and continue to be Alistair's friend. She dropped back to walk between the two. "Morrigan, don't you think you're being a bit harsh?"

"All_ I_ am doing is stating the obvious, which Alistair is clearly too dense to see for himself and therefore must have explained to him."

Alistair exploded. "You're infuriating!"

She smiled, wicked amusement sparkling in her cat-eyes.

Lyra's gaze slid between the witch and her fellow Warden. Morrigan's perverse enjoyment of Alistair's frustration was plain to see. Perhaps separating them would be better. "Morrigan, will you take the lead? I want to make sure we continue in the right direction toward Lothering," Lyra said.

Morrigan shot her an incredulous look. "Tis easy enough to find, simply follow the road, and... oh. If you wish to speak privately to your comrade, all you need do is ask." She moved off ahead of them, and Lyra breathed a small sigh of relief. She glanced at Alistair, noting the way his shoulders rounded as the witch gained distance. Kestrel nudged his way between them, earning a chuckle from Alistair, his doggy tongue lolling as he trotted along.

A companionable moment passed before she spoke. "So, you were schooled in the Chantry?"

He nodded. "When I was twelve I was shipped off to Denerim. They thought to make a Templar out of me. If it hadn't been for Duncan, I suppose I would have taken my vows by now."

Lyra quirked an eyebrow. "You? A Templar? I... no, actually, yes, I _can_ see that."

Alistair chuckled. "I couldn't. The Revered Mother and I didn't get along very well... I was always getting into trouble. I spent more time washing dishes and scrubbing floors than I care to remember." He offered her a wry grin, and she felt the corners of her mouth rise in response. "It really wasn't the life for me. I mean, I enjoyed the education, and learning to fight. But actually_ being_ a Templar..." He shook his head.

"Why? What's so bad about it?"

"You know what they do, don't you?"

"Hunt escaped mages, mostly, right?"

Morrigan's swaying hips caught her eye. Nothing about the woman was subtle - she was sex walking, and if they got out of Lothering unscathed it would be a miracle. Lyra lowered her voice. "I can understand why you were concerned about Morrigan."

Alistair scowled at the sultry witch, then glanced back to Lyra. "Exactly. But hunting mages isn't all they do... they're the Chantry's army. They're stationed in towns - often, they act as local militia, and of course there are many at Kinloch Hold - the Mage Circle. I was stationed there, briefly. All Templar trainees serve at Kinloch Hold sooner or later. While I was there, I witnessed a Harrowing. I don't suppose you know what that is?"

Lyra shook her head.

"It's the final test a mage is put through, before they pass their training and become a full Circle Mage. They put a demon inside the mage and... see if they can vanquish it. The young woman whose harrowing I witnessed... well, she didn't make it," he said quietly. "We had to..._ end _it. Quickly. If a demon takes over a mage, you get a monster. They call them abominations." His voice had gone husky with memory.

Lyra's breath caught as she imagined it... Apparently, there was much in the world that she simply didn't know about.

.oOo.

"There it is... Lothering. Pretty as a painting. If you don't mind the smell of sheep. Which I don't," Alistair grinned at her.

Morrigan smirked. "Why am I not surprised?" Alistair's easy grin faded, and he rolled his eyes at the mage.

Lyra gazed over the slice of countryside. They were still perhaps a mile off, but the tiny town was the very picture of quaint, country living. Small, teeny even, but Morrigan had suggested it would be a good place to resupply and gather any news worth hearing before they left for... wherever it was they were headed next.

A few hundred yards ahead, a downed caravan blocked the path. Surrounding the wagons was a small group of armed and armored men, meandering about... waiting for something? To Lyra, it appeared that way. Kestrel's low growl at her side seemed to confirm her thoughts.

Alistair squinted, shading his eyes. "Highwaymen. Vultures, preying on refugees running from the Blight."

"They are merely looking to take advantage of a situation beyond their control. I see nothing wrong with it," Morrigan commented.

"Why am I not surprised?" Alistair wondered aloud, duplicating her phrasing of before. Morrigan narrowed her eyes at him, and Lyra giggled.

"How do you want to handle it?" Alistair continued. "I don't have much to lose, but I'd rather not pay for their dinner at the expense of my own."

"Follow my lead..." Lyra whispered, her mind racing ahead. It would be a gamble, but if worse came to worse, she was certain that with Kestrel's help, she and Alistair could take the bandits. He gave her a slight nod as the three of them approached the makeshift barricade.

"Halt, travelers! We are collecting taxes for the king. There's work to be done on the Imperial Highway. Passage will cost you ten silver," one of the mercenaries, obviously their leader, trumpeted in a high voice. He and his companions wore various pieces of badly made armor, none of it matched or fit very well, and none of them looked as if they'd shaven in a week or more. Scavengers, indeed; hardly the tax collectors they claimed to be.

Lyra folded her arms. "Collecting taxes, are you? I can't deny it, the Imperial Highway _does_ need repair."

The mercenary blinked at her observation, but then scrambled to agree with her. "Yes! That it does. You'll agree then, ten silver is quite reasonable!"

Lyra seemed to consider. "But ten silver... it won't go all that far. I mean, just _look _at it." She waved a disdainful hand at the piles of rubble and crumbling walls. "I hope you've been collecting from everyone who came this way?"

The man nodded, enthusiastic. "Yes, indeed we have! We've done quite well, too. Never fear, the Imperial Highway will be rebuilt in no time!"

The leader's second shuffled up beside him. "They don't look like the others. Maybe we should just let them go," he suggested in a dull voice.

"Nonsense! These folk are willing to make a difference for their country, and who are we to stand in their way?" The bandit leader stepped forward, one hand extended. "Ten silver, and you'll be free to enter Lothering."

Lyra reached for her purse, then whirled, grabbing the mercenary in a chokehold, her dagger laid against his neck. Kestrel fell into a battle crouch, bright teeth gleaming with danger, his growl menacing,. A whimper fell from the mercenary's throat as Lyra speared his second with a hard look.

"You will take every bit of the money you've collected and drop it at the feet of my companions," she ordered in what she hoped was a strong voice. "If you refuse, all of your lives are forfeit."

For a brief moment, the mercenaries simply stared at her, before bursting into mocking laughter, their blades ringing as they drew them in preparation for battle. Lyra swallowed, eyes darting, heart hammering as she took a fresh grip on her blade. Another moment, and she would open his throat, then spin toward the nearest and-

Her plans were interrupted when without warning, a burst of fire struck the hand of the second. A colorful curse smote the air as his weapon clattered to the ground, his fearful stare finding the witch.

Morrigan slung her staff onto her back once more, ochre eyes alight with feral amusement. "'Twould be better if you do as we say, gentleman, or things will get very nasty, very quickly."

Something in her tone made the mercenaries scurry. Kestrel gave an encouraging bark, perhaps hoping to hasten their steps. Lyra glanced at Alistair, who stood staring, open-mouthed and wide-eyed. The dumbfounded look on his face did nothing to enhance his intelligence; another moment like that and Morrigan would have all the fuel she needed for a slew of brand new insults. For now, the witch smirked as she crossed her arms in cool triumph. Lyra adjusted her hold on the leader, hoping she looked like this was all part of the plan.

Alistair sidled up next to her as the bandits dumped coin and trinkets into a hasty pile. "What are we doing?" he whispered in her ear.

"Trust me," she whispered back.

He gave her a doubtful look, then nodded and addressed the mercenaries. "You heard her! Drop the coin over here, and no one gets hurt."

Lyra bit back a snicker. There was nothing menacing in Alistair's tone - he sounded more like a bad play-actor than a villain. Clearly, he was trying... but he'd have been more convincing twirling a handlebar mustache while drawling, "Now, me proud beauty, I've got you in my coils!" Fortunately, the mercenaries seemed shaken enough that they weren't objecting.

"Alistair, get their weapons," she said, indicating with her chin. He collected them quickly, dropping them into the pile with the coins. It looked to be a fair haul - a few hundred silver at least. Lyra's eyes darkened. These scavengers wouldn't benefit from their plans, not if she could help it. "Kneel, gentlemen."

One by one, they dropped to their knees in a complacent line before her. She shoved the leader down beside them, holding her blade before his nose. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you," Lyra hissed.

"W-we're just trying to get by!" the leader stammered, pupils trained on her blade as he pulled back a nervous inch.

"And what about the ones you've stolen from? _They're _trying to get by, as well. Taking advantage of the Blight to make coin..." Lyra was disgusted. Circling the bandits, she came to the pile of treasure and stooped to pluck up two small blades - hardly more than eating knives. Tossing them toward the stairs, she turned back to the bandit leader. "Much as I'd like to, I can't turn you loose into the Korcari wilds without even a knife to skin a hare with."

The leader's mouth worked in protest, though no sound came out. Throwing him a final flinty stare, she marched back to the pile of coins and trinkets, sheathing her daggers at her shoulder blades as she went. Pulling Alistair's handkerchief from her pocket, she knelt and began scooping the coins into the square of cloth. Not a whisper echoed at her back, and she paused in her gathering. "I'd start running, if I were you."

At her back, mad scrabbling noises echoed, chased by Kestrel's excited barking. Lyra didn't bother to look. The sounds were all of people leaving; there was nothing to indicate they were coming after her. Not to mention, Kestrel, Alistair and Morrigan were watching. It would have been suicide for the ruffians to attack now.

After a moment of silence, she finished collecting the coins into the makeshift bag and knotted the corners. "Are they gone?" she asked in a tight voice.

"Yyyyeeesss..." Alistair said slowly.

"Good. Excuse me while I hyperventilate." She fell back onto her bottom, put her head between her knees, and started to shake.

.oOo.

"We're giving it to the Chantry? All of it?" Alistair grinned.

"Of course. What did you think we would do with all of this coin?" The corners of Lyra's mouth turned up at Alistair's happy tone.

"I dunno. That plan never would have occurred to me - I really had no idea what you intended. For a moment I was afraid we'd have to have a talk about morality!" Alistair laughed. Lyra was beginning to love the sound... strong, friendly, glad. There was something so _right _about it. As long as Alistair could laugh, nothing could be too bad.

Morrigan sniffed, raising one dainty hand to inspect her nails. "You should take your collection to a village elder, instead of directly to the Chantry. Not that every religious leader isn't a_ beacon _of morality and goodness... but if you must insist on doing this 'good deed', " her mouth skewed those two particular words, "then 'twould be best to see the money goes back to the people, rather than into a robed pocket."

"Hm, maybe you're right, Morrigan. And I forgot - thank you for your help back there." Lyra offered the witch a smile.

Morrigan rolled her eyes. "Do not make a habit of it, Warden. My teeth will start to ache."

Kestrel gave a happy bark, then whined at the icy glare Morrigan stabbed him with.

"Are you much of a drinker?" Alistair questioned as they entered the lone tavern that Lothering boasted. A large building, which also served as the town's inn, trade-center and - Lyra was hoping - rumor mill.

"Can't say as I am, no."

"So, I'll get you a glass of watered wine?"

"That would be lovely, thank you." She smiled at him gratefully, and he shouldered his way over to the counter. Whether or not there _was_ any wine to be had... well, who knew what he would come back with. It was a kind thought, even so.

At the bar, the tavern-keep lifted his chin as he wiped out a wooden tankard. "Oy... no dogs allowed, miss."

"Oh, yes sir." Lyra knelt beside Kestrel. "Wait outside, boy. Or go look for a hare if you want, but meet me back here in half an hour." She tweaked his ears. Kestrel gave a short bark, and nosed back out the door.

Heads turned, conversation slowed. Lyra wondered if they shouldn't have removed their weapons before walking in the door, but then she spotted a group of soldiers in the corner and felt some relief that they weren't the only ones here armed to the teeth. She didn't want to seem threatening to these farmers. It didn't occur to her to wonder why a group of soldiers would be in a backwater like Lothering. Slowly, the inn's patrons returned to their cups, and Lyra looked around for a table. After a brief perusal, she headed for a small one she spotted in the corner, with Morrigan close behind. Alistair joined them soon after, his order placed.

A serving girl arrived a moment later with a tankard of ale and two small wooden cups half full of pale amber liquid. She smiled flirtatiously at Alistair, ignoring the women as she set all three cups before him, much to Lyra's annoyance. Alistair smiled back, pressing a coin into her hand before passing around the cups. The girl lingered, but at Lyra's purposeful _heh-hem_, rolled her eyes and stalked off.

Alistair noticed none of it, having given his attention to his mug. Once finished, he turned back to Lyra. "Honey mead - the closest they had. They said something about how it was too early for wine," he apologized. She picked up her cup and sipped - it was quite good, if a little strong for her tastes. Morrigan twirled her cup in her fingers, eyeing its contents warily.

"So, what's the plan?" Alistair asked after taking another pull from his cup.

Lyra leaned forward, her hands in her lap. "What are our options?"

"There's Arl Eamon in Redcliffe, and really, I think we should go see him first. I was brought up in his household, and he needs to hear the truth of what happened in Ostagar. Then there's the Dalish elves - they move around quite a bit, but we should be able to figure out approximately where they would be this time of year. Orzammar - that's the dwarven kingdom. It's a few weeks away on foot... maybe we should save that one for last," he mused. "The Circle of Magi - they're by Lake Calenhad, which is only about a day's walk from Redcliffe. And if we can get all of those groups to help us...well, maybe we can win this thing after all." He took another drink from his tankard.

Morrigan leaned over to whisper in Lyra's ear. "Do you see that redhead over there? She is watching our templar the way a cat watches a bowl of cream. I believe she'll begin licking her whiskers any moment..."

Lyra glanced at the redhead - she was a pretty thing, but wearing a chantry robe. A sister, in the tavern? And...yes, she _was _looking at Alistair. "How far is Redcliffe from here, in relation to everywhere else?" Lyra said, trying to get back on task.

Alistair began to speak, but then said, "I'm an idiot. I forgot-"

"Really? It's amazing how often that happens," Morrigan interjected.

The Warden had begun rummaging in his pack, either choosing to ignore Morrigan, or not having heard her. Lyra had to assume he was _trying _to be diplomatic, since Morrigan hadn't exactly been quiet. "I have a map." He spread it on the table, and the three of them leaned over it.

"Look what we have here, boys," a lazy voice drawled behind them. Lyra looked up to see the soldiers standing behind Alistair. Eyes raking them, he rose from his bench, as did Lyra and Morrigan.

"Can we help you, gentlemen?" Alistair asked politely. His fingers twitched, and Lyra felt a similar urge to unsheathe her daggers.

"We've been asking around town all morning about folk matching your description. No one admitted to seeing you... seems like we were lied to."

"Why would you be looking for us?" Lyra asked.

"The last Grey Wardens, the traitors who murdered King Cailan and betrayed Teyrn Loghain Mac Tir at Ostagar? Oh, I dunno. We thought maybe you knew some good drinkin' songs," the leader said, triggering derisive laughter from his companions.

Lyra's head spun. "Traitors? Are you kidding me?_ Loghain _quit the field - if he hadn't left, Cailan might still be alive! If anyone is a traitor, it's Loghain!" She spat the words back into the leader's face.

Eager eyes gleamed in the face of her challenge. "There's a bounty on your heads, Wardens, and we're bringin' you in." With a ringing of metal, the soldiers pulled their weapons.

Lyra vaulted on top of the table and landed in a crouch, palming her daggers and fending off a much larger sword as it came rushing at her head. She ducked another sword swing, and brought the hilt of her dagger down on the wrist of her attacker, hoping to make him drop his weapon.

Alistair bashed out with his shield, staggering two of them, and Morrigan's staff whirled in her hands - but her magic remained inert. In an unoccupied corner of her mind, Lyra wondered at this, then realized Morrigan might not want to advertise her abilities here in Lothering.

A high-pitched battle cry whipped her head to the side. The Chantry redhead had joined their battle? And she was helping Alistair with his two targets! Lyra had no time to consider further. Daggers flashing, she executed a double slash and the soldier dropped, his throat cut to ribbons. Morrigan jammed the butt end of her staff into her opposite's face, knocking him out. The redhead parried a thrust and drove twin daggers home, and her soldier crumpled with a grunt. Lyra scrambled from her perch atop the table to help Alistair, who was battling the group leader. She'd barely reached them when her fellow swung his shield, and the leader's sword clattered from his hand. Alistair's blade lifted, and the soldier threw his hands up over his face.

"Mercy!" he blubbered. "Maker's ass, have mercy! You fight like demons!"

Lyra twirled her blades into their sheaths, the elation of battle still heating her blood. Lacing her fingers behind her back, she pinned the man with a sharp stare. "Who sent you?"

The soldier gulped.

Lyra nodded at Alistair, who pressed the point of his sword into the soldier's throat.

"Loghain! It was Loghain!" the man babbled, all too willing to tell them anything now. "We was hired to bring in the Wardens - and we ain't the only group, either. He sent out a lot of us!"

A flash of red snared Lyra's attention, and she turned her head to see the Chantry sister kneeling by one of the fallen soldiers. Her nimble fingers rummaged through his pouch, and after a moment she retrieved a roll of documents tied with twine. "Here. This may prove... enlightening," the sister said, and handed the sheaf of papers to Lyra.

Lyra waved them under the soldier's nose. "What are these?"

"Descriptions of you. Our orders. Please, I - I've got a son at home..."

Lyra considered, and then gestured to Alistair. He withdrew his sword, and the soldier practically cried with relief, hands clasping his knees as he trembled. "Thank you. Thank you-"

"Don't thank us yet," Lyra cut in tersely. "You're taking a message to Loghain."

The soldier rubbed his hands on the sides of his legs, his eyes blank as a frightened doe's. "Wh-what message?"

"Tell him..." Lyra hesitated, thinking. "Tell him the Grey Wardens know what really happened, and that we're coming for him."

The soldier nodded, and began to stumble out of the pub.

"Wait," Lyra called, and she bent to pick up the soldier's sword, then handed it to him. "You'll need this." The soldier stared at her in disbelief before making his hasty exit.

Lyra turned back into the tavern to meet a room full of frightened faces. The wide-eyed expressions of the patrons shriveled her tongue, her leadership skills sinking into dust in the face of the mayhem she'd brought to these simple townsfolk.

Alistair slid his sword into his sheath and stepped forward, realizing how tongue-tied Lyra had become. "We apologize, folks, but that quarrel was not of our making, even if we did finish it. Don't worry - we'll get out of Lothering as soon as we can resupply a little." He bent to heave a limp body onto his shoulders and began walking toward the door. "I'll just... move this," he called over his shoulder, and pushed the door open.

Lyra moved to the other soldiers and began searching through their things. Quiet conversation gradually came back to life as the tavern's clientele returned to their own business. She collected a few silvers from one, and filched the belt pouch off another. It made her sick to do it, but they would need supplies, and she'd been able to bring almost nothing with her. _So now I'm a scavenger_, she thought to herself. Alistair returned and collected another body, offering her a grim smile. She watched him go, and then returned to her table to look through the roll of documents.

"We make a good team, _non_?" A lightly accented voice brought Lyra back to the tavern. She glanced at the voice's owner - it was the Chantry redhead. She was even prettier up close, with a small pointed chin, bright blue eyes, pink cheeks and rather messy red hair. Her eyes sparkled with good humor, and a fun-loving smile played about the corners of her cupid's bow mouth. Lyra gestured, and the woman sat down at the end of the table.

"Where does a Chantry sister learn to fight?" Lyra asked, picking up her cup of mead and taking a small sip. The liquid warmed her throat as it went down, and she took a longer pull. Maybe it would calm her jumpy nerves.

"I wasn't always a sister. Many of us join because we have... colorful pasts," the woman chuckled. "I am Leliana. And you're going to let me come with you."

Lyra nearly choked on her mead. Alistair had returned to retrieve the final body by this time, and looked over in alarm. When Lyra swallowed and coughed, clearing her airway, he hoisted the last body over his shoulder and walked out of the tavern.

Lyra wiped a bit of mead from the corner of her mouth, folded the parchments, and slipped them into her new belt pouch. "I'm Lyra. And I'm sorry, sister, but you won't be coming with us. Our mission is too important. We're not out on a pleasure romp."

"I know. I heard those men. Your future holds greatness in it - I can feel it. That's why I have to come with you... the Maker sent me, you see. You'll need my help."

_The Maker...? Shades, but she's serious._ Lyra looked down into her cup, wondering how to handle this one. "And...what do you think you could help with?"

"I can fight. You'll need help with that, wouldn't you agree?"

"Oh, I dunno," Alistair said as he slid onto the bench beside Lyra. "Seemed to me like we handled that with no problem." He grinned at Lyra. "I think we work well together."

"But..." the redhead sighed, seeming resigned to something. "You must let me come with you. I had a dream!"

Lyra raised her eyebrows, and Alistair stopped his cup halfway to his lips. Morrigan folded her arms on the table and peered at Leliana, lazy interest in her feline eyes.

Leliana took their silence as an invitation to continue. "I know you think I'm crazy, but believe me. My dream came from the Maker. I woke up this morning knowing what I had to do, and I came here to wait for you. As soon as you walked in the door, I knew what my purpose was. To help you - against the Blight! It's why you're traveling, isn't it?"

"Careful," Alistair murmured. "She could be sincere, but who knows. She _could_ be working for Loghain - or just insane."

"I heard that," the redhead shot back at him. "Ask anyone in Lothering. I've been here, in the Chantry, for three years. I'm_ not_ working for Loghain - but I can help you. Please let me come!"

Lyra had heard enough. "I'm sorry, sister, but we can't bring you. You seem sincere enough... but as I said, our mission is too important. I can't risk it."

"But I..." Leliana's face fell. Gathering her robes in one hand, she rose from the table, her steps full of disappointment.

Lyra watched her go, then turned back to the others. "Well... that was unexpected." She took another sip of mead.

"More crazy?" Alistair glanced at Morrigan. "I thought we were all full up." Morrigan's eyes narrowed, and he chuckled. "If looks could kill..."

"You would have perished the first moment I saw you in the Korcari Wilds." Morrigan returned in a languid, dangerous tone.

Lyra rolled up the map and handed it back to Alistair. "I don't feel like we should stay here... let's get what we need and get out of Lothering. We can make camp on the road and figure out what our first move should be."

She drained the remainder of her mead, and the trio made ready to leave. As Alistair pushed the door open to allow the ladies to pass, Lyra's eye was drawn back to the soldiers' blood spilled upon the wooden floorboards. They'd have to remain vigilant... Even if her message got through to the teyrn, she had a feeling they hadn't heard the last of Loghain.

* * *

><p><em>updatededited: 2/27/13 thanks to Wintryone for her beta of this chapter. :-)_


	9. Decisions of the Road

**Chapter 8  
><strong>**Decisions of the Road**

They made camp in a hollow a few miles outside Lothering. Before leaving town, Morrigan had picked up various foodstuffs, Alistair had gotten their weapons sharpened and purchased a whetstone from the smith, and Lyra had met with Miriam, the village elder, giving her the money the bandits had taken on the Imperial Highway.

The elder had seemed surprised, but took the money gladly. "Not sure if I'll be able to find the owners of what's been lost… but I'll put the rest to use helpin' whatever refugees come to Lothering. S'not many as would do what you done, miss… thankee," Miriam had said, dissolving into a racking cough. Lyra had given her a few poultices from her pack, as well.

Now she shook out her bedroll by the fire across the way from Alistair. Morrigan had built her own fire some distance away; it seemed she had no interest in being companionable. Just as well, as far as Lyra was concerned. The bickering was amusing enough in short supply, but she didn't want to listen to Morrigan and Alistair go at it all night.

Kestrel bounded out of the woods, a pair of rabbits in his teeth. He dropped them at Lyra's feet, and she ruffled his ears, pleased with his catch. She began to field dress the hares, tossing the innards away from the camp and throwing the livers to Kestrel. He snapped them out of the air with a wolfish grin.

Once she'd finished this basic preparation, Lyra took the rabbits to Alistair, who'd begun sharpening his sword. "Feel like skinning these? I'd like to go wash my hair, and there's a creek over there that looks too good to pass up," she said.

Alistair nodded as he took the rabbits. She smiled her thanks, then retrieved a bar of hard camp soap and a piece of soft leather from her pack to use as a towel. As she walked off toward the modest river, she called back, "If you hear screaming, come to my rescue!"

Alistair chuckled, turning to the rabbits as he spoke to himself. "Even stark naked and dripping wet, I doubt you'd have trouble with attackers."

Lyra slowed, one eyebrow rising as she peered back at Alistair. Apparently, the thought hadn't meant to be spoken aloud.

"Uh - not that - I have any business thinking of you stark naked and dripping wet - um..." Alistair stammered, his crimsoning cheeks visible even in the lowering light. "You're just really good with your weapons, you know - I mean... oh, Maker. Look, can we just - pretend I never said that? Please? It's not like I'm some drooling lecher - please stop looking at me like that."

Mirth tugged at her lips, and she couldn't help giggling as she strolled toward the river, her mabari trotting at her side.

.oOo.

Alistair kicked himself as he watched Lyra's retreating form. That had been a _private_ thought - his runaway mouth had gotten him into trouble yet again. Who knew what she thought of him now. Feeling glum, he skinned and spitted the rabbits, then went back to his weapon, taking simple comfort in the familiar, rhythmic action of the whetstone.

Lyra returned shortly, her long hair wet and tangled, a knee-length tunic her only clothing. She carried her boots in one hand and her bundle of armor in the other, and dropped the pile on her bedroll before digging a comb from the things she'd purchased in Lothering. _Trust a girl to buy a hairbrush, _Alistair thought, then wondered if he'd remembered to pack the sharpening strap for his razor.

She sat by the fire a moment later, handing him a pair of damp socks. "Here," she offered. "I washed them."

"Oh... thanks," Alistair said, then noticed her bare feet. "Why didn't you just keep them? Where are your socks?"

"I only have two pairs," Lyra explained. "I probably should have bought more in Lothering, but it didn't occur to me... they're both drying right now."

Sighing as though much put upon, Alistair plucked a fresh pair from his bag. "Put these on. It's too cold to be barefoot at night."

"What is it with you and socks?" Lyra grinned, but took them from him.

"Dry feet are very important. Do you know what could happen if you let your feet get damp?"

Lyra shook her head, eyes sparkling as the socks were unrolled and her lengthy feet tucked into them. They weren't even that big on her, he noticed.

"You've got big feet for a girl, you know that?"

"Thanks," she said sarcastically. "Next you'll be telling me I'm too tall, or that I shouldn't go around in knickers and boots."

"No, I think knickers and boots are beneficial. Especially if the alternative is _not_ wearing them."

At that, she burst into laughter again. Alistair grinned. How warm the sound was. They settled into a bit more idle chat as the rabbits cooked and she combed her hair.

Morrigan's languid footsteps drew their attention from the meat sizzling over the fire. She held a small bundle wrapped in leaves. "Roots I gathered, and greens. I thought they might go well with the hares." She set the bundle down next to the coals to cook.

Lyra blinked, shooting Alistair a surprised glance. "Thank you, Morrigan… when did you gather those?"

"As we walked. I am used to doing more than one thing at once." Her pointed glare found Alistair, who had stopped turning the spit to stare at the vegetables. He began turning again abruptly, finding a new spot on the meat that needed cooking, and set it into place.

There was silence for a moment as the witch seated herself at the fire, and then Morrigan turned to Lyra, who was still combing her hair to dry it. "Your hair is lovely. It certainly is long… how long have you been growing it?" Morrigan asked.

Lyra glided the comb through her dark tresses. "I suppose it's always been long. I've had to cut it a few times, but never shorter than here." She pointed to the center of her upper arm. "Mostly it's to my waist… it won't get longer than that." Her hair was nearly dry now. She fluffed it experimentally, then began dividing the strands for braiding again.

Alistair watched, running a hand over his own short hair. He supposed he would need to cut it again soon. Duncan had been taking care of that for him for the last few months… perhaps one of the women could act as barber. Lyra, preferably. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of letting Morrigan near his neck with a blade of any kind.

Something occurred to him then, and he reached into his pack and pulled out the map. "We should figure out where we're going."

Lyra scooted over to sit beside him, her keen eyes studying the map as she braided. Morrigan remained on the other side of the fire, uninterested, staring off into the distance.

"So, we're here." Alistair jabbed a finger at the lower portion of the map, where a small square was marked _Lothering_. "Redcliffe is close by, and not far from there is Kinloch Hold. The Dalish are… somewhere… in here." He waved his hand in a circular motion over a murky forest drawn in the lower-right of the map. "The best thing to do about them would be to head to the Brecilian Forest and just start tracking, I suppose. And then, there's Orzammar, home of the dwarves." Alistair pointed to the upper left corner of the map. "What say you, lady?"

Lyra looked at him in surprise. She began to gather the second bundle of hair and separate it. "Me? You're the senior Warden here. What do you say?"

Alistair shook his head. "Ooooh no. Bad things happen when I lead. We get lost, people die, and I end up stranded somewhere without any pants."

Lyra giggled. "That sounds like a story I need to hear."

Alistair chuckled. "You think I'm joking. But in all seriousness, I would much prefer you to take the lead. You were brought up to it. And you've done quite well so far, what with the bandits this afternoon and the mercenaries in the tavern. It seems to come naturally to you… and I see no reason to change that arrangement. It doesn't matter to me where we go first. So, I leave it to you. Where shall we go, 'O fearless leader'?"

"Well… you said Arl Eamon should be our first stop, right? So let's go there."

"Fair enough. That's done then. It's probably a three day walk to Redcliffe from here." Alistair rolled the map and stowed it away in his pack again. Lyra tied off the second braid, leaving them hanging in two long tails down her back. Rising from her place at the fire, she plucked up her breastplate and lifted it over her head.

"What are you doing?" Alistair asked.

"We're sharing the watch tonight, right? I can't stand guard in my smallclothes," she replied as she buckled it into place.

"Well, no, that's true. But you could probably get away with wearing just your leathers. No need for the full set – you won't be comfortable at all."

"What about you? You're still wearing your full splintmail. Did you want to go wash? I'll tend the rabbit," Lyra offered.

"Oh… well, that might be nice, I suppose." He stood and stretched. "Probably best if you finish it up, anyway," he grinned sheepishly. "I wasn't joking about the charred rabbit."

.oOo.

Alistair blinked awake, one hand rubbing his eyes as he pulled himself out of sleep. Small sounds had woken him - he sat up to see Lyra muttering in her sleep, her head rolling from side to side. _She's dreaming,_ he realized. And likely, it was nothing pleasant.

Morrigan sat in the grass a ways off, staring into the darkness. She'd volunteered for the third watch. _It must be near dawn, then, _Alistair thought. He'd stumbled to bed after waking Lyra, who had volunteered to take the second watch - the worst one, in his opinion, because you slept for a few hours, then were awake for a few hours, and then slept for a few more hours - less of a night's sleep and more like two naps.

Alistair considered waking Lyra and ending her dream, but before another thought could take hold she sat straight up, gasping for breath. Her eyes darted, then one hand rose to cover her forehead, her eyes closing as she calmed her panic.

"Was it a nightmare?" Alistair asked. She nodded, eyes still squeezed shut. "It happens when you're new. To the Grey Wardens, I mean. It's supposed to be worse for those who join during a Blight."

"Fantastic," she whispered, then dropped her head into her hands.

Alistair fiddled with the edge of his bedroll. "What did you see?"

Her eyes lifted to meet his. "It seemed like a dragon. Black, and green… it _knew_ me."

He nodded. "The Archdemon. The Taint in our blood – the thing that makes us Grey Wardens – it's how we sense the Darkspawn. But as with every two-sided coin, we can sense them, and they can sense us. We sort of... tap into their 'group mind', I suppose. That's what Duncan said, anyway."

"So... is it possible that the Archdemon really _did_ see me?"

"I suppose anything is possible. But-"

Lyra groaned and huddled down into her bedroll again. She drew the blanket over her head, saying something very muffled.

Alistair got up and circled the fire to crouch beside her bedroll. She didn't move, so he tugged the covers from her face. Her wounded eyes peeked out at him. "Didn't catch that, sorry."

"I said, any more good news?"

He sat back on his heels and puffed out his cheeks, supposing she would have to hear it all sooner or later.

"Well… which do you want first, the worst news, or the worser news?"

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "There's multiple worsers?"

Sighing, he lowered the final few inches to the ground, crossing his legs beside her. She sat up, arranging the blanket around her waist, eyes full of suspicion. Alistair hated to have to be the one who told her about all of this. Not for the last time, he wished that Duncan was still alive. "Well, on top of all of the fabulous things about being a Grey Warden, you don't have to worry about dying of old age. You've got thirty years to live. Give or take. The Taint... it's a death sentence."

A bitter laugh tumbled from Lyra's mouth as she shook her head. "I don't suppose most Grey Wardens even make it that far." Guarded eyes appraised him. "How long have _you_ been one?"

"About six months. Not long at all."

"And how old are you?"

"Twenty-three," he said. "You?"

"Nineteen. No, wait... what day is it?"

"Thursday. Why?"

"My birthday was two days ago. I'm twenty."

_She'll die at fifty… Rotten. Rotten, rotten, rotten._ He sat wordlessly for a moment, then went to his pack and pulled out a small bundle wrapped in sackcloth. Crossing back to where she sat within her bedroll, he knelt and pressed it into her fingers. "I didn't expect you to tell me you turned twenty years old while lying unconscious in a witch's hut in the middle of the Korcari Wilds. Open it," he said quietly. "It can't be your birthday without a gift."

A pleased yet puzzled smile crossed her face, and Lyra unwound the bundle, the rough cloth falling away after a few passes to reveal... a scarlet rose. A quiet breath of astonishment sounded as she turned it over in her hands. "Alistair... this is beautiful. Where did you find it?"

"I picked it today, uh, yesterday, in Lothering. It looked so fresh and innocent there, and I dunno, I couldn't stand the idea of it being destroyed by the Darkspawn. And just now, sitting here… you and this rose… it just seemed you were too similar to keep apart," he said.

She raised her eyebrows. "You see me as a delicate flower?"

He chuckled. "No, I wouldn't say that. But - here we are, taking on this impossible task, and you haven't complained. Not a bit. You've been this... tower of strength. And you've got a few thorns of your own, you know." He touched the stem of the rose, where wicked barbs waited to draw the blood of the unwary. "I just thought you should know what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find, amidst all this darkness."

Lyra had laid the rose against her cheek, her teeth working her lower lip. Ocean-blue eyes focused on his as he spoke, and Alistair found himself locked in, unable to break away. The moment stretched, then faded. Alistair looked away, embarrassed. What had possessed him to give her such an intimate sort of gift? Supposing she got the wrong idea - roses were usually a sign of love, weren't they? The errant thought whispered, _Would that be so bad?_

He cleared his throat, one hand finding the back of his neck. "Anyway, it was this, or the pair of socks you wore to bed. I didn't bring much with me in the way of last-minute gifts."

Faint amusement touched her lips, and Lyra closed her eyes, the soft red petals brushing her nose. She breathed in, her enjoyment of the delicate fragrance clear to see. Those deep eyes opened again, pulling him in. "Thank you, Alistair… it's lovely. Best birthday gift I ever got."

He swallowed, managing what he hoped was a casual smile. "I'm glad you like it. I don't imagine it will last very long, though, so enjoy it while you can." On legs that felt a touch wobbly, he stood, making his way back to his bedroll.

Lyra had snuggled down into her blankets again, and Alistair had begun to climb into his own bedroll when she sat up. "What's the worser news?"

Alistair snorted. "Worse than dying at fifty? Well… it depends on your personality, I suppose. Some might consider this next part a blessing. How badly do you want children?"

.oOo.

They broke camp a few hours later. Lyra had been unable to get back to sleep, and had lain awake, brushing the petals of the rose against her cheeks and savoring its soft fragrance.

No children? Grey Wardens were sterile?

Logically, she supposed it was for the best… who would want to have a child knowing that it might be tainted by Darkspawn corruption? But nonetheless, it _hurt_. She was the last of the Cousland line - well, probably. Fergus might still be alive, but to pin her hopes upon that would be foolish. With her brother gone, and Oren, she'd been the last hope for her family's legacy. That realization ached, her heart weeping for those sons and daughters she would never meet. Tears had fallen then as she remembered Oren and Oriana, and the pride her sister-in-law had taken in her son. How very sweet he'd been. To never carry a child beneath her heart or feel soft breath on her cheek. Never would there be a small someone who was entirely dependent on her for every need…

When the sun crept over the horizon, she sat up and packed her morose thoughts away with her bedroll to be brought back out at nightfall. Alistair's rose was wrapped in its length of cloth once more, then tucked into a protected corner of her pack.

They had traveled only a few miles along the highway when Alistair hissed, halting them in their tracks. Faint sounds could be heard from the direction of Lothering - someone was on the road. The three of them ducked into the bushes, secreting themselves from discovery.

After a few moments, the travelers appeared. Two people… a young woman dressed in midnight black armor, and a man who must have been nearly eight feet tall.

"They came this way, I'm sure of it," the young woman chirped in a lightly accented voice. The giant grunted in response.

_I know that voice,_ Lyra thought, her eyes widening as she caught a flash of red hair beneath the girl's helmet. She stepped out of the bushes. "Leliana?"

The young sister stopped, a triumphant grin lighting her face as she lifted the helmet from her head. "Wardens! See, Sten? I knew I would find them." The giant said nothing, his only response to cross his arms and grunt.

Lyra was incredulous. "You followed us."

"Well, yes…" Leliana hedged, then sighed. "Really, I must come with you. My dream… I can't ignore it. It's important to your mission – I _need_ to help."

Alistair and Morrigan had also climbed out of the bushes by this time, and Alistair meandered forward to speak softly in Lyra's ear. "Maybe we should take her with us… it isn't as if we have a lot of help."

"Alistair." Lyra pinned him with a stern gaze. "She's an Archdemon short of a Blight."

"Yes, but she seems more 'Ooh, pretty colors!' then 'I am princess stabbity! Stab, stab, kill kill!'"

"I'll stab-kill _you_. She's not coming." Lyra turned back to Leliana, intent on popping the girl's bubble, but Alistair caught her hand and pulled her away from the others.

"Lyra," he murmured. "Trust me?"

"I thought you wanted me to lead," she whispered back.

"I do… but I have a good feeling about her. Please?" Hazel eyes begged.

Lyra snapped her mouth shut, irritated. "You said she might be working for Loghain!"

"I know, but… I don't think that anymore. She saw what we did to those mercenaries – Andraste's sword, she _helped_ with what we did to those mercenaries. She could have helped_them_ just as easily. I think she made the difference for us back there, and it might just happen again. Besides, get a load of that guy," Alistair whispered. "That's a qunari. Ever heard of them?"

Lyra stole a glance back at the giant. Up close, he was even bigger, a veritable statue of granite and alabaster. Morrigan had begun a slow circuit around him, her honeyed eyes alight with interest.

"They're from across the sea, right?"

"Yep. Think what good _he_ might do against the Darkspawn."

"He might… but he might be here to help kill us," she whispered.

"Maybe. But we can handle them if they turn on us, right? So what's the harm? It could do us a lot of good."

Lyra recalled the way the young Chantry sister had stared at Alistair from across the tavern, and the strange annoyance that had welled up within her. She eyed Leliana now in her dark armor, the helmet tucked beneath her arm, her red hair blazing in the morning sunshine. She took another look at Leliana's companion – there was a gray pallor to his tanned skin, and his strange white hair had been skinned back from his face in rows of braids that gathered into a bundle at the nape of his neck. A wicked bastard sword was slung over one shoulder, and his eyes were... _lavender_? Just what kind of people were the qunari?

Alistair squeezed her hand, drawing her attention back to him. Such warmth and hope shone from his amber-green eyes. An eager smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, his right cheek dimpling just a bit. Lyra's heart thumped in response.

"Oh... fine," she snipped, and his answering grin brightened. "But if they murder us in our sleep, I'm holding you responsible."

"Understood," her fellow said, altogether too pleased that she'd given in to his request.

She slipped her hand out of his. "Also, you get the second watch tonight."


	10. A Prince Among Men

**Chapter 9  
>A Prince Among Men<strong>

Gentle evening sounds layered over the simple camp - quiet conversation, boots treading the earth, metal clinking, a fire settling its embers. At the newly-dug firepit Leliana knelt, stirring a soup she'd put together from dried meat and a few greens gathered as they traveled. Lyra sat on the ground across the way in her linen tunic and breeches, her dagger ringing as she slid the whetstone along the blade.

Perhaps a hundred feet out, Morrigan had built her usual fire, her slender form hunched over a black leather tome. Sten had not joined either fire, but had taken a seat on a log halfway between them, bent over the chain shirt they'd acquired for him. In truth, it was three chain shirts, broken and rusted, and he'd taken up the task of joining and mending them into a wearable garment. He'd said nothing to anyone since they'd obtained the armor, too absorbed in his task to care about anything else.

Alistair had shed his splintmail and laid the pieces upon his bedroll to air. His damp, wrinkled linens felt light and _free_ in comparison to the restrictive plate, and the evening breeze wafted over his skin in the most delicious manner. He strolled the camp, half a loaf of bread in his fingers as he explored and relaxed, eventually plopping down beside Lyra on the grass. For some reason he found her intense concentration amusing, not to mention adorable.

"We'll be in Redcliffe tomorrow," Alistair said casually. Lyra nodded, not looking at him, continuing to sharpen her dagger.

Leliana offered Alistair a brief smile, then pushed to her feet, grabbing a waterskin and heading in the direction of the river.

Alistair contemplated the chunk of bread in his hand, then tore a piece from it and held it under Lyra's nose. Her focus broken, she pitched her eyes sideways without moving her chin. He grinned, then bumped the bread against her nose. A protesting gasp fell from her lips as she brushed crumbs from her skin, shooting him a wry look.

"Bread?" he offered.

She said nothing, but pursed her lips before taking what remained of his loaf and handing him her dagger in return. He plucked the whetstone from her other hand, resuming the ringing slide of stone on metal as she tore into his bread.

"So... we're not dead yet," he said conversationally.

She chuckled. "Not yet."

"Did you really think they might kill us?"

She ripped a piece of crust and popped it into her mouth. "Maybe."

"And you still listened to me?"

She threw him a look. "What was I supposed to do? You were… making those _eyes_ at me."

"What, these?" Alistair turned on his puppy dog eyes, and Lyra smacked his shoulder.

"Yes, those."

"I can't help it if I'm stunningly handsome and have animal magnetism, to boot." Alistair waggled his eyebrows at her.

Lyra snorted with laughter and choked on her mouthful. There was a hilarious moment as she comported herself. Her staid mood had broken in the wake of his silliness, and Alistair ventured forth once more, emboldened by her laughter.

"So... my eyes were enough to make you risk certain death. Good to know." Alistair grinned at her again. Lyra swatted at his shoulder once more, but he dropped the dagger and grabbed for her wrist, halting her movement. "No, don't hit me!" he begged, delighting in her resulting giggle. She swung out playfully with her other hand, and he captured it as well. "Stop, fiend, you might break my manly nose!"

She dissolved into laughter, her struggles to free herself half-hearted at best. He decided a counter-attack was in order. In a quick motion, he turned her around and looped his arms over her, keeping hold of her wrists and tickling his free fingers into her ribs. She writhed in his embrace, begging him to stop as crazed laughter tumbled forth. Alistair had begun to laugh as well when a familiar voice brought them both to a halt.

"If you two are quite finished..." Morrigan sauntered up to the fire, eyeing their antics with distaste.

Alistair let her go quickly, and Lyra smoothed her hair and took a breath. Her cheeks flooded with crimson, and without a word, she rose and took herself off into the trees, her posture stiff.

Morrigan watched her go, cat eyes brimming with amusement. Leliana returned to the fire then with her full skin of water and began adding it to the soup, little by little.

"Are two Grey Wardens allowed to..." Morrigan trailed off, but her tone was suggestive.

"Caboodle?" Alistair offered, his tone just as suggestive.

"Fraternize was the word I was searching for." Morrigan arched a finely shaped brow.

"What are you talking about? There's nothing between Lyra and me." Alistair retrieved the dagger from where it had fallen and flipped it in his hand. Reaching for the whetstone, he sat down again to continue sharpening it, attempting a nonchalant pose. His ears burned, though.

Morrigan cackled. "Even were I not a witch, I would smell _that_ lie from a mile off."

"I don't know what you're on about," Alistair scoffed.

True, they got along spectacularly well. He enjoyed making her laugh. Her eyes lit up in the most fascinating way, and she was more than his match on the battlefield. Their conversations had been everything from joking to deep, and they had sat up several nights talking about various things – their childhoods, the fate of Ferelden, their hopes for the future. But anything more? With Lyra?

Not that it hadn't crossed his mind. A man could dream, after all, and lately the leading lady of his woolgathering had taken on Lyra's face. Her wit and good humor, paired with those blue eyes and long legs... He shook himself. Maker knew she was beautiful. And smart. And dangerous. And a teyrn's daughter. And the two of them together was about as likely as the Blight ending tomorrow - meaning, not at all.

And yet...They'd connected on an... almost_ intimate_ level. She was quickly becoming his best friend, or at least someone he felt very close to, which was more than he could say for most of the people he'd met in his life.

But even so, a relationship? Would she even consider such a thing?

From her seat across the fire, Morrigan smirked at him.

Alistair scowled in return, cursing his open face, which had likely run the gamut of his thoughts. Standing, he tossed Lyra's sharpened dagger onto her bedroll. "How much longer, Leliana?"

The orlesian sister smiled up at him. "About fifteen minutes, I think."

Alistair peered into the pot. "But it's still different colors. Aren't you supposed to cook everything until it's a uniform gray?"

Leliana chuckled, but her smile faded when he continued to look at her in query. "Uh… no, Alistair, it's nearly done. I promise."

He nodded, not convinced. "I... think I'll just... go talk to Lyra for a moment." Without a look back, he left the fire behind, following in Lyra's wake. He'd been dreading the talk he had in mind, though there could be no more waiting. There was an awkward piece of information he had yet to share with her, one that he'd avoided long enough. With their arrival in Redcliffe tomorrow, it would be worse if she heard it from someone other than himself.

.oOo.

Lyra leaned her head back against the tree, one leg dangling from her perch high in the branches. She'd had to get away, unable to handle the rush of feeling that had taken her when Alistair had said the things he did. His arms encircling her, the touch of his chest against her back - he'd been so _close_. The scent of his skin still lingered in her thoughts; rangy leather and the tang of metal, softened with the herbal soap he'd washed his hands and face with after they made camp...

_Stop it,_ she admonished herself. There was nothing between herself and her fellow Warden, much as her thoughts kept straying in that direction. It didn't help that he had the sweetest smile and a fantastic sense of humor, his hazel eyes shining when she joked with him. The dimples in his cheeks really, really weren't fair, either...

_Maker's sake, Lyra,_ she scolded. _What about Rory?_

Guilt flipped her stomach. Had the attack on Highever not occurred, she'd never have met Alistair and might even now be spending this evening in Rory Gilmore's arms. It had been only two weeks since her world had turned upside down, since she'd lost everyone and everything close to her - shouldn't she be in mourning?

_Right, mourning,_ she snarked to herself. _What with the Blight and the battle and the traveling and the Darkspawn and the being hunted for killing the king._

...it mattered not. His eyes still made her shivery, her skin still burned where his hands had brushed. Yet with every heart-fluttering look he gave her, a cold sense of dread clenched her bones. Mild flirtation was one thing, and Alistair could no sooner stop smiling than the sun could stop shining. But a relationship... no. Too dangerous, too risky. Anything could happen - Maker knew they weren't living the _safest _sorts of lives. The memory of her father's red death intruded, and she shoved it away, afraid to shed more tears. Numbness was easier, and she wrapped it around herself like a shroud.

Witnessing her family's massacre had begun the process, and losing Duncan and the entire Warden order in one fell swoop had completed the steel walls she'd erected around her heart. Life was short, and attachments of any sort made the inevitable separations even more painful. If she didn't die during the Blight, likely Alistair would, and then she would be mourning someone else as well. Drawing a deep breath, she calmed her racing heart, scrubbing at her arms where his touch lingered on her skin. There was _no_ reason to get excited over something so silly. So Alistair had played with her a bit - it was brotherly, no more. And she'd be wiser to shut off the flood of feeling that rushed forth whenever that teasing grin tugged at his mouth.

The crunch of old leaves alerted her to someone's presence, and she drew her foot up, holding her breath as she listened. Below, a red-gold head came into view, her traitorous heart leaping as she recognized Alistair. He paused below her tree, his eyes trained on the ground. She waited as he looked back the way he'd come, then at the ground again. The befuddled look on his face was so easy to imagine that she giggled. "Up here," she called down.

His eyes flew upward, widening as he saw her amidst the branches. "How did you get up there?"

She spread her arms, fluttering her fingers. "I flew, just like a bird... I climbed, silly man."

Alistair inspected the tree's base. "I don't think I can follow. Never been much for heights."

"It's barely eight feet up! This isn't high."

Alistair circled the tree, then gave up and peered through the branches once more. "Look, can we talk for a moment?"

Lyra's mouth dried up. Something in his tone set her heart speeding again, and she stilled her trembling fingers against the branches, ignoring the sheen of perspiration that washed over her as she dropped to the ground. "What about?" Good. Casual enough.

"Well..." Alistair ran one hand over his hair. "We'll be in Redcliffe tomorrow, and I thought you should know something." His hazel eyes were nervous as the sought hers. "I... haven't been entirely honest about my... parentage. Remember what I told you about my mother being a servant girl, and how after she died, Arl Eamon took me in and let me stay?"

Lyra nodded. They'd talked about this only last night.

"Well... see, _that_ part was true. What I didn't tell you is... the reason Arl Eamon let me stay, was... my father... was King Maric."

A wave of ice enfolded Lyra's stomach. She reached for the tree trunk, feeling a bit weak as she absorbed this bit of impossible. The words 'You're having me on' rose to her lips, but from the look on his face, Lyra knew nothing could be further from the truth. "Your father... _was the king?_"

A weak smile touched Alistair's mouth. "Yep."

"Then Cailan - he was your brother? But-"

"I don't have any claim to the throne," he cut her off hastily. "It was always made very clear that I was a commoner, and nothing more. I was put in the Chantry at a young age to make sure I never got any... ideas, I suppose. And I don't want anything to do with the throne – it's_ never _been something I've wanted."

Lyra listened to his babble with incredulous ears. She'd been traveling with a _prince_? "So... you're royalty," she said slowly.

Alistair laughed - a low, despairing sound, so different from his usual hearty chuckle. "A royal bastard, that's me. Literally. Ha-ha, make the joke, everyone else has." His eyes pleaded. "Look, don't go spreading it around – no one's supposed to know. I've been keeping the secret my whole life."

"Why?" _As if I can't figure it out_, she thought sourly.

"No one was supposed to know. Arl Eamon knows, of course, and Duncan knew, and Cailan knew about me. But... like I said, I wasn't supposed to exist. I was _inconvenient_, a royal nuisance. So, we tried to ensure that as few people knew as possible. Easier on everyone that way."

Trailing her fingers on the bark, Lyra crouched in the bracken, her fingers finding a rock in the undergrowth. She turned it over slowly in her hands, then rose and chucked it as hard as she could into the forest.

"Lyra, Don't be angry. I wanted to tell you, and I should have... but how do you just tell someone... _that_?" Embarrassment colored his voice, not to mention his cheeks.

Lyra dusted off her hands. "Oh, I don't know. How about, 'By the way, I'm the heir to the throne'?" she suggested dryly.

"Now that's glib, even for me," Alistair said. He took a hesitant step closer, one hand reaching a bit, but she stepped away, her arms wrapping around her middle, isolating herself.

He dropped his hand and sighed. "I guess... I kind of liked you _not_ knowing."

"You_ enjoyed _deceiving me?" Her tone was angry.

"No! Maker, no, not at all. It's just... well, once people find out, they treat me... _differently_." His mouth twisted, unhappiness filling his eyes. "Growing up, and in the Chantry, the nobles treated me like I was dirt because of my birth, and the others treated me like I was a snob, or they tried to curry favor. No one ever just accepted me for _me_. And you and I... we hit it off so well, right away. I just didn't want that to end. I haven't had many real friends. I mean, Duncan was, but... anyway. With us arriving in Redcliffe tomorrow, I thought it might come up, and I didn't want there to be... awkward misunderstandings."

Lyra hugged herself tighter, dredging up the last memory she had of King Maric - at her mother's Satinalia ball, five years previous. The king had been lost at sea only a few months later, and Cailan had wed Anora shortly thereafter and taken the throne. Maric's hair had been more golden, but... now that she thought about it, she was surprised she hadn't seen it before. If she squinted, she could almost see Ferelden's former monarch standing before her now.

_How do people not realize?_ she wondered. He wasn't all that similar to Cailan - she'd never met Queen Ronan, but it seemed logical that Cailan took after his mother. But Alistair looked like Maric in his younger years, or at least what she imagined he might have looked like. The nose, the eyes, the cheekbones - Alistair wore King Maric's face, all but his smile. That was his own, or perhaps his mother's.

"I just... Lyra, I just wanted you to like me for me. Just... Alistair, without titles or ambitions." His voice was miserable. He shut his eyes, and turned to go.

Before she quite knew what she was doing, she'd reached out to catch his hand, preventing his escape. He paused, his eyes sliding up to meet hers, a ray of hope banishing the sadness.

"It must have been very difficult for you, growing up like that," she said quietly.

His eyes widened, then cast downward, his shoulders lifting in an offhanded shrug. "Well... you know. I survived." His fingers twined with hers.

Lyra felt a smile curving her mouth. "So Eamon is your uncle?" It felt compleyely natural as their feet meandered in the direction of the camp, their hands still clasped.

"Sort of. He was King Maric's brother-in-law, so we're not really related by blood. But he's the closest thing to family I've got left."

Alistair's hand felt warm and strong, with rough patches that snagged her own sword-roughened fingers. So different from the noblemen she'd danced with at Satinalia, with hands daintier than her own. No, his hand enveloped hers, his palm hardened, the skin thick and sturdy. Such strength in him, but such tenderness...

"I do like you, Alistair," Lyra said softly, and squeezed his hand before letting it go. "You're a good _friend._" Much as it pained her, she emphasized the word, hoping he caught her implied meaning.

He let go a long breath, one corner of his mouth quirking as his eyes flicked toward hers. "Thank you for understanding."

There was silence as the mood shifted, the only sounds their boots trodding over the earth as they wove through the trees. The almost-intimacy dissolved, and Alistair kicked at a rock in the grass, keeping it in front of them as they walked.

"So... _your highness_..." Lyra snickered.

"Alright, that's it. I'll get you now!" Alistair shouted, and she shrieked with delight and ran from him, laughing as he chased her.

.oOo.

There had been no late-night talks the evening before. Leliana and Lyra had begun to gossip, and Alistair had sidled off to bed when the talk turned to hair and shoes. The qunari warrior had taken the first two watches, claiming not to need much sleep, and though Alistair had meant to watch him he'd fallen asleep before he realized it, not waking until the sun glimmered over the horizon. _If he didn't slaughter us in our sleep last night, chances are he's not going to,_ Alistair thought.

He rolled his blanket into a compact bundle, watching his fellow Warden for any sign of waking. Maker only knew why she slept on - the sun had risen at least an hour before, the chill of evening already banished in the wake of its gentle rays. Spring was well on its way, and the forest resounded with the sounds of life. Everyone else had already woken, and camp was nearly broken. Redcliffe wasn't more than a few hours distant. Of course, Lyra would have to be awake if they were going to Redcliffe.

Finishing his blanket, Alistair stepped around the firepit to crouch at her side. She was dead to the world - faint shadows beneath her eyes made him wonder, had she not been sleeping well? Following the one nightmare, she'd said nothing about bad dreams... but then, he'd heard that Wardens who joined during the Blight had it worse. His own sleep had been interrupted more than once with visions of horror and death. It was a shame to wake her, if she was sleeping soundly at last.

The sound of a throat clearing drew him away from his study of Lyra's face. Morrigan's amber eyes lingered, mocking mirth shining clear as the sun as she sashayed past.

"I'm waking her up," Alistair called after the witch's swaying hips.

"Certainly," Morrigan returned in an airy voice, not deigning to look at him.

With a sigh, Alistair brushed one hand over Lyra's arm, trying to ignore the fetching way her twin braids draped over her shoulders. She'd curled the other arm beneath her head, and as he touched her skin she murmured in her sleep, snuggling further into her blanket.

"Lyra," he whispered. It was tempting to graze her cheek with his fingertips. The whites of her eyes showed through the barely-open slits in her eyelids, her dark, thick lashes so still against her cheeks. "Hey, Lyra."

Nothing. She slumbered on.

With a sudden bout of humor, Alistair recalled the story he'd heard in childhood about the princess who'd been cursed to sleep for a hundred years until her prince broke the curse with a kiss. He chuckled, recalling their conversation of the evening before and his own royal birthright... but since she wasn't _exactly_ a princess, or cursed, for that matter - he supposed he really had no right to be thinking of kissing her awake. "Wake up, sleeping beauty," he murmured, risking a tug on her ear.

She canted her head into his touch, her eyes fluttering as she stretched. A faint smile touched her soft lips, and then her eyes peeked at him, a quick breath rushing into her lungs as she returned from the Fade. "'s it morning?"

"Yup," Alistair said.

She scrubbed hands over her eyes as she sat up, her words made gibberish by the yawn that broadened her mouth. "I was having the nicest dream..."

"About?"

Lyra blinked, turning to face him, then her eyes opened wide. "Holy Maker, it's morning!"

Alistair chuckled. "Sort of happens when the sun comes up."

"Why didn't you wake me?" She glared at him, tossing the blanket aside and reaching for her armor. Grinning, Alistair sauntered back across the fire to finish his own preparations.

The morning passed quickly, the journey easy and uneventful. Castle Redcliffe looked much the same as it had in Alistair's childhood. They'd begun to cross over the arcing stone bridge that led down into the town proper when a young man came sprinting up, a bow hooked over his shoulder and a quiver of arrows bouncing on his back.

"Thank the Maker you've come! We sent messages, but it's been days..." the youth panted.

"Slow down there. What's wrong?" Lyra asked.

"You mean, you don't know?" the young man said, regaining some of his breath. "There's been attacks, attacks from the castle every night! We need help, and bad! Bann Teagan is down in the chantry – let me take you to him!" He whirled to sprint down the path, but Alistair halted him with a word.

"Hold up," Alistair said. "What about Arl Eamon? Why is Bann Teagan here? He should be in Rainesfere."

The young man's forehead crinkled as he turned back, his worry and distress obvious. "The Arl fell sick a month ago. He's been unconscious for weeks, and we don't know why. Bann Teagan arrived last week, and then three nights ago the attacks began. Please, if you come with me, Bann Teagan can tell you more."

He dashed away. With a look of alarm at her companions, Lyra sped after him, the rest of them falling in line behind her.

.oOo.

"And that's the way of it," Bann Teagan finished. "Three consecutive nights we've been attacked, and all the monsters come from the castle. I don't know that we can survive another one, and yet what else can we do but defend ourselves?"

Lyra pressed her hands to the sides of her head. The undead, walking. _Attacking_. What else would happen to her before the year was out? It had been just over two weeks since she'd left Highever, and her world seemed to have begun spinning backward.

Bann Teagan was still speaking. "Alistair, I would not ask if our situation was not dire, but there it is. Will you and your companions help us defend Redcliffe?"

Alistair shifted his weight, uneasy. "It's not just up to me. I know I want to, but we have a very important mission of our own." His gaze skipped to Lyra, silently pleading.

"Of course we'll help, Alistair. We couldn't do anything else," she said simply. Behind her, Morrigan _harrumphed_.

Teagan smiled, relief plain on his face. He stepped forward and clasped Lyra's hand. "Thank you, Lady Cousland. Maker bless you and keep you," he said.

She squeezed his hand and smiled in return, but then said "Grey Warden is fine, Bann Teagan. I left my rank in Highever." She straightened her shoulders, assuming what she hoped looked like the mantle of leadership. "What needs doing - who should we speak to about tonight's attack?"

"Murdock, down in the village… he's the mayor. He can advise you. And Ser Perth is with his knights – they are probably training up by the windmill. Let me know if there is anything else you need," Teagan said. Lyra nodded and turned to go, but Alistair stopped her.

"Lyra… do you mind if I stay here and speak with Teagan? I want to talk with him about Arl Eamon."

"Certainly, Alistair, take your time. Come find us when you're finished." She smiled at him, and the party filed out.

Alistair turned to Teagan. "I heard from the young man who brought us in… Thomas, was it? He said Eamon is sick?"

Teagan sighed, and beckoned Alistair to follow him. A moment later, Teagan closed the door of the small office he'd led them into and gestured Alistair to sit. "We don't know what happened. Eamon was fine, and then… he wasn't." Teagan ran both of his hands through his longish, auburn hair, gripping the back of his neck. His young face looked haggard, and he seemed to have aged thirty years since Alistair last saw him, which, to be fair, _was _at least ten years ago…. but still. Teagan was still a young man, not yet forty, and he seemed to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"We've tried magical healing, poultices, herbs…. Eamon's wife has had healers from across the country to see him. Witch doctors, spirit healers... It doesn't matter. Nothing works. He seems stable, but unresponsive. Isolde got even more desperate about two weeks ago, and sent a contingent of knights to seek the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

Alistair leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. Now this was interesting. "The Urn of Sacred Ashes? I thought it was a legend."

Teagan spun the signet ring he wore on his hand, a wry smile touching the corners of his mouth. "It may be, but Eamon employed a scholar named Brother Genetivi who did much research on the Urn, and he was convinced the legends were true. A pinch of the ashes is said to cure anything, and since nothing else has worked, Isolde has put her faith in the Maker and the Urn." Teagan shifted his weight against the desk he was leaning on. "It's a small hope, but we have no others."

Alistair sat back, his head whirling. Faith in the Maker was one thing, but to pin all your hopes on a legend? "And have the knights had any luck finding the Urn?"

"We've had no word. Twelve were sent out, and honestly my boy, I wonder if we'll ever see _any_ of them again. But I cannot say such things to Isolde. She is mad to find a cure for Eamon."

"Yes, I remember how intense she can be," Alistair muttered. Isolde had been the one to convince Eamon to send Alistair away to the Chantry, the rumors being that Alistair was actually Eamon's bastard. It made sense; why else would an arl take in an orphaned commoner? But the truth had been too important to reveal, and so off to the Chantry Alistair had gone. He'd been nineteen before he'd forgiven Arl Eamon for sending him away.

"They have a son now. Connor is the boy's name." Teagan added as an afterthought. "I don't know if you heard."

"I did, actually… Eamon wrote to me when he was born. He must be, what, about nine now?" Teagan nodded in confirmation. Alistair pushed to his feet, rounding the chair and heading for the door. "I'll check back in with you later, Teagan. For now I should go find Lyra and the others."

"She seems like a fine woman," Teagan observed.

Alistair stopped, his head turning back, eyes darting to Teagan's. There was nothing there but honest admiration, and so Alistair said, "She is," and walked out the door.

* * *

><p><em>Updatededited 3/26/13._


	11. The Trouble With Redcliffe

**Chapter 10  
>The Trouble With Redcliffe<strong>

"Mother Hannah, it would do the knights so much good..." Lyra's voice wheedled as Alistair rounded the corner.

The Chantry Mother's lips pressed into a fine line, her stern eyes unimpressed as she shook her head. A typical example of her kind, she clasped work-roughened hands before her. Neat gray hair was gathered in a bun at the nape of her neck, her slim body swathed in the crimson robes that marked her station.

"What would?" Alistair whispered as he joined Lyra in the Mother's office. Keeping her eyes on the elder, Lyra gave a slight shake of her head as Mother Hannah began to speak.

"I told you already, child. I cannot. There _is_ no item that will protect them in battle. I have prayed for them and blessed them, and with that they must be content." Her words had a finality to them, and Mother Hannah seated herself at her desk, one hand patting a phantom stray hair back into place.

"But suppose... suppose we just _told_ them an item could convey such protection," Lyra pleaded. "Morale is a powerful thing. It could be that they would make it through the battle on their own faith, if they just had something to bolster it. Just a little." These last words were tacked on hastily, as though she could soothe the Mother's horrified look with pretty phrases.

"You are asking me to... _lie..._ to the knights?"

Alistair spoke up, catching on to Lyra's thought. "It wouldn't really be a lie, would it?" he pointed out. "If you had some... I dunno, amulets or something, and you blessed them, we could tell them you had blessed the amulets in the name of the Maker, and... let them believe what they liked."

Mother Hannah turned her stern gaze on him, and in an instant he was back in the school for new Templar recruits in Denerim, facing down Chanter Rosamund. A wash of heat flooded his cheeks. Yup. Definitely twelve years old again.

Lyra seized upon the idea, however. "Yes! It wouldn't be a lie, it would just give them something to put their faith in. Like the beads the Chanters sometimes use to help them recall verses of the Chant of Light, or... um..."

Alistair came to her rescue. "The statues of Andraste in the Chantry hallways."

"Yes! Just a symbol of their faith, blessed by the hand of their own Revered Mother in the eyes of the Maker." Lyra held her breath.

Mother Hannah eyed them in suspicion, then sighed. From a drawer in her desk, she withdrew a number of small silver amulets. "It feels like lying. But if it will save lives, I don't suppose I can refuse." Bowing her head, she wove her hands in the pattern of a traditional blessing, murmuring a few words from the Chant of Light. Once finished, she thrusted them at Lyra. "Give these to Ser Perth, and may they do the knights good." Her brief moment of compassion finished, Mother Hannah's attention returned to her desk. "Now please leave."

Gushing their thanks, Lyra earned herself another annoyed glare before the two of them scooted out of the office. Just as well - Alistair didn't want to risk anything that might change Mother Hannah's mind.

"For the knights, right?" Alistair lifted his chin at the pile of medallions in Lyra's fingers.

She nodded, a pleased smile raising the corners of her mouth. "You were fantastic! I really didn't think she would give them to me... Whatever made you think of that argument?"

"Well, with the Chantry, it's all about finding the right angle," he said with a satisfied smirk. "You'd be surprised at what you can accomplish with the proper justification. Where're the others?"

"Divide and conquer," she said. "They're speaking with a local veteran about joining the battle tonight."

.oOo.

"Apology accepted. Now get out." Dwyn the Dwarf crossed his arms, his deadpan expression as unimpressed as his voice.

"There's a battle coming tonight, and the brave lads in the town could use a veteran like you to bolster their spirits," Leliana returned, crossing her arms herself. She'd tried knocking - three times, in fact - but when they'd received no answer she'd picked the lock, certain she'd heard voices. Sure enough, the dwarf and his henchmen had been inside, and hadn't been pleased by their rude invasion. Of course Leliana had apologized, pointing out that if he'd only answered the door...

"Not worth my life." Dwyn's uncaring demeanor didn't change. "I'm staying in here, locked up nice and tight – that is, if you didn't break my lock," he added in a dark voice.

Morrigan stepped forward, her hips swaying. "What _would _it be worth to you, soldier?" She breathed deeply and leaned forward, which made her blouse do... interesting things.

Dwyn seemed taken for about one second, then shook his head. "A night with you? Even if I were into humans, I don't think it'd be worth dying over."

Morrigan's eyes flashed with danger. Sultry lips curled, her fingers clenching into white-knuckled fists.

Leliana hurried to intervene."What about five sovereigns?"

A flash of interest. Dwyn's guarded eyes swung in her direction. "Let's see it, sister."

The clink of gold was good enough for Dwyn, and seconds later the stoic dwarf had pocketed the money. "Done. I'll be out there tonight, and you'd better be, too." He and his henchmen shouldered past them to head outside, their conversation finished.

Leliana looked to Morrigan, her blue eyes dancing with mirth.

The witch sniffed. "Not that I would have done it. I was merely trying to convince him."

"Well, it was a good thought, Morrigan," Leliana said, her mouth quirking upward. They left the house, and Sten followed at a short distance.

"I don't see the point of these good deeds we keep doing," Morrigan complained as they strolled the planked walkway. "People must learn to depend on themselves, and by helping them we only ensure their inability be self-sufficient. They will continue to cling to our skirts, begging for favors and getting in the way."

"Have you never helped someone for the simple joy of it, Morrigan?" Leliana asked as they walked toward the general store.

"Joy? From helping others?" The witch snorted. "Joy is the wilds at night, or the success of the chase, or the way the full moon calls to my blood. Joy is soaring through the night sky as an owl, or the feel of magic as it races through my veins. Joy is not _helpin__g_ people become weaker and weaker," she finished in a firm voice.

"You're wrong. Great joy can be had from helping. When I was in the Chantry, I learned just how much people appreciate help when they need it. It did my heart endless good to see a person in need, and to give them succor."

"Well, I have never found joy in simply _helping_," Morrigan emphasized, her voice dripping with disdain. The subject closed, she pushed open the door, leading the way into the general store.

"Hello?" Leliana called. All was quiet, the shop nearly empty but for a few scattered papers and stacked crates. The shelves had been cleared of everything but a few simple boxes, set askew on the abandoned slats. No one seemed to be around.

"Whoever owned this store must have been killed in one of the attacks, or is hiding in the chantry," Morrigan mused.

"We should see if there's anything useful, at any rate," Leliana suggested. They began to poke around the shop, opening cupboards and drawers. One corner was dominated by a stack of barrels, filled to the brim with lamp oil.

"Nothing here," Leliana said, disappointed. "It's been cleaned out."

Morrigan lingered, her eyes hovering upon the barrels. "That oil... 'Tis quite flammable."

Leliana's eyes widened in comprehension. "Of course! You're brilliant, Morrigan! We'll tell the knights right away." The former Chantry sister threw her arms around the witch and planted a kiss on her cheek, dashing from the shop a moment later. Disgusted by the display, Morrigan followed, her nose wrinkling at the feel of the sister's lips on her skin.

.oOo.

"Then you'll look for her? You'll find my Valena?" Owen the blacksmith sniveled into his sleeves, his voice muffled.

Lyra wasn't sure what to say. She couldn't be certain the girl was still alive, or wasn't a walking corpse, or hadn't been ritually dismembered. Anything could have happened to Owen's daughter Valena, the arlessa's maid. But she _needed_ Smith Owen to repair the townsfolks' armor and weapons before the attack tonight... "Owen... we'll look for her. But I can't guarantee anything. Believe me, I'll do my best-"

Owen cut her off, his eyes fierce. "Not good enough. You have to _promise_. Promise you'll look for her, and bring her back safely to me if you can."

Tenacious as his trembling voice had become, Owen was begging for a miracle - one she was hesitant to agree to. But what choice did she have? Lyra bit her lip, then nodded. "I promise. I will seek your daughter, if you will work with Murdock to prepare the villagers." She swallowed hard, afraid she would bring back nothing but a corpse for the grieving father. With no visible activity from the castle for days, it was possible everyone within had been slaughtered. She wasn't lying. She _would_ seek Valena, just as she would seek any survivor. She just couldn't be sure anything would come of her search, and the thought twisted her stomach.

But Owen nodded gratefully, and seemed to stand bit taller. "I'll accept that." He walked to the fire and began pumping the bellows, stirring up the flames for the necessary work. "I'll need more wood. Send Murdock in - we'll work out the details between us." Turning away, Owen muttered to himself as he stuck various smithing implements into the glowing embers.

Lyra fled the smithy, and Alistair followed without a word.

The bright sunshine and fresh air did much to lift Lyra's spirits. Owen had done little to hide his retreat into alcohol, and they'd been in the smithy all of ten seconds when Alistair had sing-songed in her ear, "Somebody's been dring-king!" As if she couldn't smell the booze. The man was lucky he hadn't gone up in flames. Lyra hoped he was one of those people who worked better drunk than sober - Maker knew they needed a good smith.

Kestrel barked as he bounded toward them, panting happily and jumping up on her legs. She ruffled his ears fondly and planted a kiss on the top of his head, then pushed him down. At ninety pounds of solid muscle, the mabari was hardly a lapdog. "Murdock," she called. "Owen is ready to help."

The mayor's brows met above his nose as he stared at her incredulously, then shook his head as he stroked his impressive mustache. "I dunno how you did it," he graveled, "but with Owen helping us, and Dwyn on our side... I almost feel hopeful about the battle. Thank you, Warden. If you've no other plans before tonight, now's a good time to see about any gear you might need for yourself. You look to be well equipped and armored, but if you ask up at the tavern, Lloyd might have a few... special items you could use. Acid flasks, and the like. He's a bit of a hobby chemist, and fancies himself creative with explosives." With that, Murdock turned and walked back to his archers, shouting an admonition to one clumsy young man.

Lyra glanced at Alistair. "Could you use a pint?"

"Before we die tonight? Certainly," he grinned at her. "Nah, we're not gonna die. The heroes can't perish before the tale ends. It would completely ruin the storyline, and the author would probably be shot. But I won't say no to a drink."

She chuckled, enjoying his ridiculous notions. Thus encouraged, Alistair teased her all the way to the tavern.

.oOo.

Alistair glanced across the room as he waited for their drinks to be poured - ale for himself and a cup of wine for Leliana. Lyra had hemmed and hawed and finally shoo'ed him to the bar, telling him to surprise her. So he'd gotten her a water. Surprise!

Morrigan and Sten had seated themselves away from the others, and now were locked in a kind of staring contest. Neither said a word, and yet it seemed they were communicating anyway. Alistair blinked, his eyes sliding from one to the next. They hadn't heard much from the giant qunari. Leliana had told them all briefly about how Sten had been in a cage in the town square of Lothering, and how she'd begged the Revered Mother for the key to his prison, intending to take him with her when she left to seek the Wardens. He might not have killed them in their sleep as yet, but that didn't mean Alistair was totally easy around him. However, he could hardly complain that someone else seemed to be distracting Morrigan.

The barkeep slid a foaming tankard into his hands, and Alistair scooped everything up, balancing the three cups in a triangle between his fingers. When he made it to the table without spilling a drop, he offered the girls a triumphant grin. Sadly, neither of them saw it, but continued to stare across the room, focused on Maker only knew what.

"Great job, Alistair," he said, pitching his voice high in an imitation of Leliana's Orlesian lilt. "You did that so well!"

"Great job, Alistair," Leliana said in a distracted tone. "You did that so well. How proud you must be to carry cups across the room."

"He's brilliant, no?" Lyra flashed a smile at him, then sipped from her mug. "Water? What!"

"Make a decision next time." He grinned at her and took a pull of his own foamy brew. "What are we talking about?"

"That man... there's something about him," Leliana whispered. She twirled her wine glass in a speculative manner. Lyra glanced unobtrusively at the elf sitting alone in the corner.

"What about him?" Alistair whispered back.

"Is that any good?" Lyra indicated his ale with her chin. Before he could reply, she'd snagged the tankard from his hands and put it to her lips.

"Whoa there. Since when are you allowed to take my stuff?" Alistair demanded, though he was hardly angry. There was something adorable about Lyra drinking from his cup.

She lowered the mug, using her thumb to wipe a bit of foam from her mouth. "If I don't try it, I'll never know if I like it. But why pay for a full cup of something I might not enjoy?"

"Smart, pretty _and_ thrifty," Alistair grinned. "So? What'dya think?"

"Eh," Lyra shrugged, passing it back into his hands. Her cheeks had gone a touch pink, the added color piquing his interest. "Leliana, let me try yours."

"Not a chance." Leliana sheltered her wine glass from Lyra's reaching hand. "Get your own."

The sound that came out of Lyra's mouth made Alistair chuckle. Half-whine, half groan, all exasperation. "Oh come on..."

"Don't do it, Leliana." Alistair indicated his own drink. "She's contaminated mine already. I can't drink this now - I'll catch her girly germs."

"Man up, baby, or I'll give you something worse than 'girly germs'." Lyra cracked her knuckles in the palm of her hand.

"Do tell." Another grin tugged the corners of his mouth as he sipped from his contaminated mug.

"How about a black eye?"

From beneath the table, Kestrel snickered. Just how dogs could snicker, Alistair wasn't certain, but there could be no other word for the dog's amused noise.

Leliana giggled as she handed Lyra her wine glass. "Anyway. That man... he's hiding something. See how he keeps fingering the handle of his cup? He's nervous."

"But is he 'My wife will draw and quarter me for being drunk in the afternoon' nervous, or 'I have a dark secret that affects the Wardens' nervous?" Alistair countered.

"He has no wife. No ring, see?"

"He doesn't need a ring to have a wife. But it could be a jealous girlfriend... or maybe he's out of work. Or maybe he's just an escaped murderer and has nothing to do with us," Alistair suggested. "You're jumping at shadows."

By this time, Lyra had finished her tasting of Leliana's wine. Sparing her companions neither word nor glance, she stood and crossed the room, going directly to the elf in question.

Leliana blinked, nonplussed. "Is Lyra always this impulsive?"

"Uh... your guess is as good as mine." Alistair's brows rose as he watched Lyra begin speaking to the elf in a voice too low to hear. "I've known her about a week longer than you have."

"Oh, I see. You two seem so close, I just assumed..." Leliana shrugged, then hopped up from the bench and breezed across the room to join Lyra.

Cheeks burning, Alistair shoved back from the bench where he'd been perched, the wood making an awkward scraping noise as it dragged across the wooden floor. Clambering over it like the oaf he was certain he appeared, he hurried to join the ladies, embarrassed at the idea Leliana had apparently taken away from their joking interaction.

"I told you, I'm just having a quiet drink. That isn't a crime, the last time I checked." The elf hunched over his ale, his face dark and nervous.

Lyra cocked an eyebrow. "Then you won't mind telling us your name, stranger."

Sullen silence from the elf, then, "Berwick."

"Come now, Berwick; this doesn't have to be difficult," Leliana's smooth voice interjected. "Tell us why you're _really_ here."

Just as Leliana had observed, Berwick's fingers twitched on his cup, but this had more the look of someone itching to reach for a weapon. Perhaps there was something to this 'women's intuition' thing he'd heard about, after all. Shifting his stance, Alistair adopted a subtle pose that lent itself more easily to close-hand fighting. An impulse to pull Lyra out of harm's way crept over his bones, but he squashed it - she could hardly question someone while peeking out from behind his back, after all.

The elf's eyes darted. "I'm not-"

Leliana slipped a dagger from her hip, purposefully allowing the blade to ring as it slid across the metallic edge of the sheath.

Berwick gulped, visibly sweating now. "I was paid to watch the castle," he blurted. "To send word if anything changed. That's all! I swear!"

Leliana examined her dagger with apparent carelessness. "Who paid you?" Her lightly accented voice was deceptively soft. There was nothing inherently threatening about her, and yet something about her posture inferred that she meant business and wouldn't hesitate to use that knife. Lyra caught his eye, her brows rising. _She didn't see this coming, either, _Alistair thought. _Not from our Chantry sister._

"I don't know. He was tall... He said he was hiring me on behalf of Arl Rendon Howe." Berwick licked his lips nervously.

At his side, Lyra stiffened, her face going frosty. "Easy…" he murmured, and put his hand on the small of her back.

"Look, I thought I was doing a service. For my country. I was told that Arl Eamon was dangerous - a threat to Ferelden. All I had to do was watch the castle and send a message if anything changed. But I've been watching for three weeks, and the most that's happened is a group of knights left two weeks ago and then the attacks began. I swear, that's it. There's nothing more I can tell you."

Leliana inclined her head toward them and gave a slight nod, as if affirming Berwick's words.

Lyra contemplated the elf, her blue eyes cold and full of judgement. "You should leave Redcliffe. Tomorrow."

"I will miss, I swear - wait, tomorrow?"

"Yes. After you help defend the town tonight."

Berwick's mouth fell open, a rush of garbled protests streaming forth, cut off by the dagger that Leliana flipped in her hand. "Very well. I'll stay, and then tomorrow you'll never see me again." He stood in a hurry, attempting to leave, but Lyra's hand on his chest stopped him in his tracks.

"I'll take any paperwork you have," she said quietly. Berwick simply reached into his tunic and withdrew a vellum scroll, shoving it into her hands before he dashed from the tavern.

Lyra sagged. She looked so sick at heart, the urge rose to put his arms around her in a gesture of support - but something held him off. Instinct, perhaps. The gesture would have been too familiar, even as friendly as they'd become.

Lyra lifted her head after another moment, her eyes seeking Leliana. "How did you know he was a spy?"

A startled look flitted over Leliana's face, but then she laughed easily. "Oh, just something I picked up in Orlais. Lots of spies there, you know."

Lyra seemed to accept this, though it smelled fishy to Alistair. Recognizing spies wasn't something people just 'picked up', but... giving a mental shrug, he followed the ladies back to their table, peering over Lyra's shoulder as she unrolled the scroll to read.

_Berwick,_

_We need your eyes and ears in Redcliffe. Stay in the village, keep your head down, and watch the castle. Report any changes, and you'll be well paid._

A small scribble at the bottom was indecipherable – _probably a signature_, Alistair thought.

"Nothing to link it back to Howe... just Berwick's word," Lyra muttered, crumpling the vellum. "But it can't be unrelated."

"Uh... what can't?" Alistair asked, certain he was missing something.

Lyra turned to him, her eyes glittering with fury. "My family was murdered. Now Arl Eamon is mysteriously ill, and Berwick was paid to watch the castle. All of this coming on the heels of Cailan's defeat at Ostagar, which only happened because Loghain pulled his troops from the battle. And who is Loghain's right hand man?" The vellum twisted in her nimble fingers, hatred tinting her voice.

"Howe." Alistair breathed, realization smacking him in the face. She was right. It _was _too much of a coincidence to be just that.

"And who now sits the throne?" Lyra continued. She wasn't purposefully leading him; it was more like they were sharing the thoughts as they occurred, putting together a puzzle that needed completion.

"Anora, Cailan's widow... who is also Loghain's daughter."

"It's all bloody convenient, isn't it?" Rage sparked in her eyes as she stood once more. "They've staged a coup. Loghain and Howe are planning on taking the throne."

Alistair sat back, stunned. Had Lyra not turned and stalked from the tavern, who knows how long he might have sat there dazed, the implications whirling in his head. As it was, he snapped to a scant second later, scrambling out of his seat to chase after her. "Lyra, wait!" Behind him, Leliana called to them both, and more footsteps pattered over the floorboards in his wake.

Lyra was halfway down the hill before she responded to his shouts, offering him nothing more than a glance over her shoulder. "We're going to Denerim," she yelled back, her voice hard with determination.

"Lyra! We can't go now. There's an attack on the town tonight, and what about the Blight?" Alistair grabbed for her hand, missing it as she swung her arms vigorously. "We can't leave Redcliffe to burn." Skirting her hasty steps, he managed to get in front of her, planting his hands on her arms and forcing her to a stop. If looks could kill, Alistair wouldn't have lasted three seconds under her murderous gaze.

"Alistair, my family is _dead_," she choked out. "How can I let that go, when we're nothing but pawns in a political game of knights and castles? Loghain and Howe could be moving the pieces to take all of Ferelden, in one fell swoop! I have to stop them!"

"How?" he demanded. "You're one woman. They have armies, guards, and Denerim is a week's walk from here. Redcliffe is in danger _now_. If you leave, these people will all die." His tone was desperate. She _couldn't_ leave... and he couldn't do this without her.

That seemed to shake her, or at least bring her down to earth a bit. Leliana, Morrigan and Sten caught up as she brought her hands to her face, her shoulders crumpling. It was a gesture that begged help, and this time Alistair _did_ put his arms around her and held her close. How could he not, as distraught as she was?

Lyra trembled in his embrace, her own arms creeping around his waist to squeeze him tight. They were nearly the same height, but bent as she was, it was easy enough to drop a kiss on her dark head. A brotherly gesture, nothing more... yet his heart fluttered as he scented her hair. Lyra curled herself tighter into him in response. "We will avenge your family, I swear it," he whispered. "But our duty to the people of Redcliffe must come first. Please... stay."

"This is typical of Grey Wardens?" Sten asked. Alistair jerked his head up. He'd forgotten the others existed for a moment. After so many days of silence, it was surprising to hear the giant speak.

"It certainly seems typical of these two. If one of them isn't bawling, the other is," Morrigan's lazy voice drawled, and Alistair shot her a look brimming with venom.

Lyra took a shuddering breath and pushed herself away from Alistair, turning away without meeting his gaze. As brief as their hug had been, his arms missed her, and an ache bloomed in his chest at the stoic way she held herself.

"I'm fine. You're right. Thank you." Straightening, she turned to the rest of the group, her voice strong and commanding with barely a hint of her previous tears. "We will stay here. For now." Turning on her heel, she strode off.

Leliana hurried after her, and Alistair was left to stand awkwardly, a stinging lump in his throat as he watched Lyra walk away. Morrigan folded her arms, seeming positively tickled by this latest development. The giant qunari grunted, his purple eyes disapproving. Both of them stared at Alistair, as though expecting something.

"What are you looking at?" he snarled. Scowling, Alistair stomped off toward the practice arena where a few swordsmen were swinging wooden blades at each other. After the realizations they'd come to about Loghain, Howe and Arl Eamon, he needed to hit something. And as long as he kept that thought in mind, he could ignore the idea that Lyra's rejection had anything to do with his sudden foul mood.

* * *

><p>updated 620/13


	12. Trial By Fire

**Chapter 11  
>Trial By Fire<strong>

The grass swished as Lyra's boots cut a swath down to the reedy edge of Lake Calenhad. Breathing hard, she scooped a handful of pebbles from the earth and poured them from hand to hand as she watched the late afternoon sun glitter on the water. Muscles bunching, Lyra gritted her teeth as she launched first one pebble, then another, then another. Each one shot over the lake's surface, skipping along to the tune of her frustration until they caught too much water and sank down to their murky graves.

"You care for him."

Somehow Leliana had crept up behind her. Lyra shook her head, refusing to meet Leliana's gaze. "No, I don't." Reaching down once more, she found another handful of rock, planning on repeating her previous performance. A soft touch on the arm stopped her.

"Deny it all you like," Leliana chided. "But love has touched your life. I can see it. It's in the way you move, the expression in your eyes whenever you look at him. Alistair has become a large part of your world, hasn't he?"

Lyra jerked her arm away and began to cast another stone, then changed her mind and hurled all of them at once. They hit the water with a series of resounding _plops_, and Lyra dropped to the ground, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands as she stared out over the water. The setting sun threw sparkles on the lake, changing the placid water to a shining sheet of silver and white. Battle preparations had taken up most of the day, but the ambiance of Redcliffe had changed. Whereas this morning the very air had been glazed with fear, now there was... hope. It was good. If Redcliffe believed they could triumph, their chances of survival were much greater.

The chantry sister folded herself into a ball at Lyra's side. Lyra had expected questions, demands - but none came. The silence stretched, but its soothing touch was relaxing. Leliana asked for nothing, simply offered her company. Such friendship was rare... it put Lyra in a mood for confessions.

Before she quite realized she'd begun, Lyra was recounting her last few days at Highever. She told of the breakfast where she'd held Oren's hand, how she'd sparred with Rory and Fergus to the sound of her nephew's cheers. The awful moment when she'd awakened and realized her ancestral home was under attack. The way her mother had looked at her before she'd escaped into the tunnel with Duncan. The pain that had filmed her father's eyes, the horror of discovering her darling nephew dead in a congealing puddle of his own blood. She told of the long trip to Ostagar, how she'd put her fears and sadness aside in the interest of duty.

Then came the Joining, the battle, their rescue by Morrigan and Flemeth. Somewhere in all of this, she began to speak of Alistair; how they'd met, how they'd become friends, how he'd begun to pull her out of the black abyss she'd been mired in since that fateful night when she'd lost everyone she'd ever loved. Her fingers wove themselves in the grass at her side as she spoke. "Both of us have lost our families. It's only natural that we should reach out to each other," Lyra concluded. "He's become a good friend, a reliable companion. His sword can be counted on."

"And that is all?"

"Purely professional." Feeling ill, Lyra gave Leliana a half smile. "Feel free. I know he's very good looking, and he'd probably love to get to know you better." Standing, she brushed dirt from her seat and began to walk away, finished with their conversation. The last thing she wanted was to giggle with Leliana over _Alistair_.

"Lyra, wait-"

Clamping her eyes shut, Lyra turned on her heel, nearly colliding with the redhead who'd leapt to her feet to chase after her. "I saw you, Leliana, okay? I saw you looking at him in Lothering. I won't stand in your way. Now please, let's not talk about it?"

"My dear, I have less than no interest in Alistair."

Lyra blinked. "...what?"

The chantry sister slipped the fingers of one hand into Lyra's, while with the other she reached up to smooth a lock of hair that had loosed itself from the Warden's braids. "My tastes are not in men, you see."

Oh. _Oh_. Heat flooded Lyra's cheeks. This gorgeous woman who could have had any man she wanted - was interested in _women_?

Leliana gave a wry chuckle. "You seem surprised." She slipped her dagger from her hip and began to attend her fingernails.

Lyra fidgeted, at a loss for words. "I... I'm sorry. I thought that was one of the reasons you had joined our party. Alistair, I mean. Morrigan told me you were looking at him, and when I looked, you were, and... I jumped to a conclusion." _Maker help me_. Had she offended the Chantry sister?

Leliana didn't answer right away, but continued her trim her nails. She held out one hand to inspect it, then began work on the other one. "Alistair is a dear," Leliana said. "He always says the wrong thing, and he's got dimples, which makes him more adorable than he has any right to be. But he isn't for me. No, I told you the truth. I joined you because the Maker sent me a dream."

Lyra's gaze dropped to her own fingers, finding a hangnail that required attention. She began to pick at it. "Can you tell me about it?"

Leliana glanced over and clucked her tongue at Lyra. "Don't do that. A woman should have pretty hands, and that will ruin your nails." Taking Lyra's hand in her own, she began to clean and pare Lyra's fingernails with the edge of her dagger.

Lyra had never had such attention paid to her hands. It felt almost fussy, but Leliana's movements were so deft and gentle. After a moment, Leliana released her hand. Gone were the ragged edges, the bits of grime that accumulated with being outside all day. "It does look nicer," she admitted.

Leliana smiled and reached for her other hand, then tugged Lyra to the ground. "It's easier if we're sitting," Leliana said. "I used to do this for... a friend. In Orlais."

Lyra said nothing as Leliana skimmed the blade beneath each nail. Wherever she'd picked up the skill, she was good at it.

"My dream... it was terrible," the sister began. "I stood on the edge of an abyss, and there was darkness, such darkness. I don't know how long I stood there, but..." She stopped, considering. "...it was like there was nothing down there but despair, misery, wretchedness. And in the middle of the pit was a creature who… _needed_ me. Needed to feed. I fell." She shuddered. "I woke up, covered with perspiration, frightened out of my mind, and I went out to the gardens as was my custom each morning. There was a rosebush in the corner which had not flowered for years – it was a tangle of thorns and briars, all grey and dead. But when I got there, the most beautiful rose had bloomed, right in the middle of the bush! Now how could that be, if not by the Maker's own hand? I knew, _He_ was responding to my dream. There was good to be done, and I needed to be the one to do it. I packed, said my goodbyes to the other sisters, and went to the tavern to plan my strategy... and then you arrived." She smiled, her blue eyes filled with warmth. "Coincidence? Or providence? It doesn't matter." Giving Lyra's hand a final squeeze, she let go and tucked her blade back into its sheath. "I have made my choice. Your quest is the one thing that can stop all of Ferelden and Thedas from falling into the abyss of which I dreamed. How could I not help you?"

Lyra shook her head in wonder. "You have so much faith."

"I do – because it is deserved. In the few days I have been with you, I've seen great compassion, wonderful promise, incredible dedication. You and Alistair - you're the only things standing between all of us and certain destruction. I will do anything to help you. Both of you," she affirmed. "We are going to be great friends, you and I," Leliana confided with a smile.

"Did you dream of that, too?" Lyra teased.

"Of course. And in my dream you told me as much yourself." Leliana's eyes sparkled with fun. Standing, she pulled Lyra to her feet, linking their arms and leading them in a stroll along the water's edge. "Now, tell me why you keep running from our ex-templar."

.oOo.

The sword sliced the air as Alistair pivoted, disarming first one man and then another. Sweat dripped into his eyes, his skin flush with exertion. The world had narrowed to the sword and shield and the volunteers ranged against him. Knocking the last adversary to the ground, he dug his toes into the turf and bulled forward, slamming his shield into a practice dummy. It burst open, raining sawdust and grass everywhere.

Murdock shouted approval, and the others watching cheered as well. Alistair grinned, stretching as he came down from the high of battle. His body ached with pleasant fatigue, though now he wondered if he should have saved his stamina for nightfall.

Murdock looked at the lads who surrounded the paddock, leaning on the fence or on their own bows. "That's what I'm talking about. A shield can be just as deadly as a sword in the right hands!" He turned to Alistair. "If you weren't a Warden, I would try to talk you into staying on as my second. These lads need training, and I think they could learn a thing or three from a fighter like yourself."

Alistair laughed, his breathing still heavy. It had been a way to release tension; the last thing on his mind had been impressing those who watched. Even so, admiration shone on every face, and even the surly dwarf, Dwyn, looked impressed. The group began to break up, heading off to eat dinner and armor up before the night's battle.

Alistair set down his sword and shield and unbuckled his outer armor. "Master Murdock," he called. "Is there a common bathing area around here? A piece of the lake used to cool off? I could use it before tonight." Murdock beckoned, and Alistair dropped his chestpiece near the fence beside his weapons. Wearing a homespun shirt and the bottom half of his splintmail, he followed Murdock toward the lake.

The sight of Lyra and Leliana strolling up from the lake's edge sped his heart. The two were arm in arm, looking as close as sisters. Leliana offered him a friendly smile as they approached.

"Just going to cool off," Alistair said.

"Enjoy!" Leliana said brightly.

Lyra didn't respond, her eyes trained on her boots.

Alistair's heart sank. _Damn it all,_ he thought. _She's furious. She should be – I crossed the line. I never should have touched her._

Murdock escorted him the rest of the way to the lake, warning him of the undertow before leaving him to his bath. Though it was the furthest thing from Alistair's intention, his mind kept returning to the feel of his companion as she'd huddled in his arms. In that small moment, she'd _needed_ him.

And Maker save him, but being needed had felt incredible.

.oOo.

Lyra crimsoned as Alistair passed them by, the sweat-dampened shirt clinging to his muscled form. As if it wasn't enough that the man was sweet, and had a fantastic sense of humor. He also had to be as chiseled as a stone statue, yet alive and warm and his arms so tender...

Leliana giggled.

"Shut up," Lyra muttered, her eyes on her boots. "He's just a friend."

"You do not see it, _ma chère_. But the way he looks at you is so much more."

"You're imagining things," Lyra insisted. "Besides, even if he _were_ interested, I'm not. It's better for us to keep things... professional."

"Mm," Leliana said, noncommittal.

"It is!"

"Uh-huh."

Lyra sighed, the beginnings of a headache creeping over her forehead. "Thanks for talking with me."

Leliana squeezed her hand. The look in the woman's eye told Lyra that she probably hadn't covered as well as she'd hoped.

In truth, Alistair was constantly on her mind. She was always aware of him, her eyes canted sideways to watch what he was doing, her ears tuned for the sound of his voice. And unless she was much mistaken, he was just as aware of her. But her life had so recently been a waking nightmare that the dream of falling for him scared Lyra senseless. Fear of losing someone else had pressed the sharp edge of reality against her throat, and Lyra was terrified of being bled dry.

.oOo.

"These Grey Wardens arrived just in time to help us prepare for tonight's attack. We have every reason to believe it will be the fiercest one yet. But when we win through, I will be able to find out exactly what has happened to the arl and arlessa. People of Redcliffe, we will triumph!" Bann Teagan's voice rang like a trumpet through the yard, and the assembled fighters hollered in response.

Lyra cheered as well, but privately she worried. Six knights, a dozen village men who were no more than farmers pretending to be soldiers, the elf Berwick, the dwarf Dwyn and his guards, and their own small party made up the entire group of fighters. Women and children had barricaded themselves in the basement of the Chantry. It seemed not many women took up swordwork in Redcliffe, so Lyra, Leliana and Morrigan would be the sole females fighting.

Everything that needed doing had been done in preparation for the onslaught. All that was left to do now was wait.

Ser Perth led them up the mountain path to the castle proper. Dwyn and his cronies, the six knights, and Lyra, Alistair and Morrigan composed this first group. Kestrel, Leliana and Sten remained below with the rest to guard the entrance to the chantry and also as a backup contingent, should the mountaintop fighters need them. A barricade and barrels of lamp oil had been placed near the edge of the path where it naturally widened to lead to the windmill. The theory was that the monsters would have to rush through the flames before attacking, and perhaps be slowed or even stopped completely. The archers could easily pick them off if that happened.

A slow hour crept by as the moon ascended and the night deepened. The knights shuffled around, attempting to keep muscles warm and limber. Alistair stretched, and from time to time Lyra hopped up and down, shaking her hands and her feet in her boots. Morrigan looked on with puzzled amusement. She had perched upon a small rock by the edge of the clearing, still as a cat content to wait by a mouse hole.

"Lyra."

_No._ Gritting her teeth, Lyra kept her back to him as she tried to compose her face. Alistair hadn't strayed more than four feet from her since they'd climbed the hill, and there was something serious in his tone now. Something she wasn't sure she wanted to deal with. "Yes, Alistair?"

He said nothing, so she chanced turning around. Damn it, his heart was in his eyes, though the silence held for another long moment. Lyra swallowed, the power of his gaze sweeping through her.

Alistair drew a breath, chancing a step closer. "I-"

"There!" The heralding cry snapped their attention to the path. Relief - and a touch of regret - flooded Lyra; whatever Alistair had been about to say was stalled for the moment. A faint green mist swirled at the top of the hill, and Lyra's heart skipped when a shadowy, stumbling figure emerged to begin its halting descent toward them.

"Maker's breath," Alistair murmured, his eyes wide. Lyra hadn't been quite sure what to expect when Teagan had told them of the undead that attacked night after night. But this... here was the proof, shambling toward them. Cadaverous skin had melted from its frame, exposing bone that reflected the moon's eerie light. Rusted armor and tatters of age-old cloth draped the skeleton, more rotted than whole. A walking nightmare, come to steal the breath from their bodies and leave them bleeding on the ground. And perhaps, once the living had been defeated, they would rise again, new additions to the undead ranks.

Cold sweat slicked Lyra's palms, daggers shifting in her determined grip.

"Archers, prepare!" Ser Perth commanded. Each knight stood behind a row of arrows stuck into the ground, ready to be nocked at a moment's notice. A young recruit ran in front of the knights, lighting piles of tinder.

Three more figures detached themselves from the writhing mist, and began that same stumbling jog down the mountain path.

"Lady Morrigan!" Ser Perth called, and Morrigan stood and planted her staff before her. She raised one hand, and a spark whirled to life above her cupped fingers.

The corpses drew close to the barrels. Lyra held her breath.

"Now!" Ser Perth shouted, and a fireball flew from the witch's fingers. A mighty explosion rocked the earth, blowing the four walking corpses to smithereens. The barricade caught, raising a cheer and a wall of merry flame between the living troops and the dead.

"Here we go," Lyra muttered.

In twos and threes, the skeletons ran down the mountain, but never at such a great rate that the knights couldn't handle them easily. The monsters were picked off, and the recruit ran back and forth, sticking arrows in the ground for the knights to retrieve, nock, and release. With the barrels burning as well as they were, the tinder piles went unused – everything was already burning when it got close enough to be threatening.

Lyra was almost bored. They'd made this sound so fierce._ Where's the challenge?_ she wondered. A moment later, she cursed herself for tempting fate to laugh at her.

The young man who had met them at the bridge that morning came skidding up the path from the town square. "They're in the town! _They're down there_!" he shrieked.

Lyra ran to the edge of the path to peer over the cliff. The dozen farmers had been surrounded by the fiends! They were hemmed in – and more monsters were spewing from the path that emerged from the woods.

_A distraction,_ Lyra thought with horror._ The bulk of them are attacking the town below!_

"Maker's tits, they came around the lake!" Ser Perth cried, echoing Lyra's thoughts.

Morrigan stepped from the shadows, her voice confident. "I can handle the ones coming down the mountain here."

"Ser Perth, choose two men to stay and help Morrigan," Lyra commanded. "Everyone else, come on!" She didn't wait to see if her orders were followed – just took off in a dash down the path. The familiar clink of Alistair's splintmail was close behind her, followed by the sound of multiple pairs of boots.

The path leveled, and Lyra never looked back. Blind rage filled her as she fell into the trance of battle. Slash with her daggers, kick to the knee. A twirl, roll into a crouch and double slash. Come up swinging. Duck an enemy blade, taunt another to come for her. She'd heard tell of this hypnotism warriors sometimes experienced, but never before had she felt it herself. There were so many enemies... there was nothing to do but fight on, fight until they were all on the ground, until nothing was left standing but herself and the ones she fought for.

Quick kills were impossible. The corpses hissed at her, but otherwise they seemed to feel no pain. Each one needed a certain amount of battering before it stayed down. She heard Alistair's battle cry somewhere to her right, and saw Sten's mighty bastard sword crushing two and three skeletons at a time. Kestrel was at her heels, at her back, jumping, growling, using his body to protect and aid her. Her world was the daggers in her hands, the enemies before her. Killing. Stopping them from hurting the ones who were helpless, the ones she had sworn to protect.

Time slowed, and yet it seemed only a few minutes had passed when Lyra looked around to find the living outnumbered the dead. A ragged breath rattled in her throat, a sharp ache making its presence felt in her side. Lyra pressed her hand to the spot and it came away bloody, her eyes widening as she realized she'd been wounded. The moon was at its apex as Murdock swung an axe at the last standing corpse, toppling it to the ground with a puff of dust.

Heavy breathing and the sound of scraping armor was all that remained. Then a cheer began, and slowly got louder. Lyra heard her own alto crescendo with the deeper basses and baritones around her. Leliana's lilting soprano whooped over all of them, and Alistair's hearty laughter rang out like a Chantry bell. Lyra's heart rejoiced. Victory tasted sweeter than any wine.

Bann Teagan leapt to the top of the Chantry steps to shout over the noise. "Friends, Redcliffe is triumphant! We-"

"Has anyone seen Bevin? My brother!" The Chantry doors creaked open, a slim teenage girl shoving against the piled crates and debris that had blockaded the entrance. Hands pulled at her, but she wrenched away to stumble outside. Seeing Teagan, she dashed over to him and clutched his tunic. "Please – my younger brother is missing! I thought he was with us in the Chantry, but no one has seen him in hours, and I'm so terribly afraid!"

Teagan had only begun to respond when a stinging in Lyra's nose drew her attention in another direction. From the shanty-town that stretched over the lake, the choking smell of smoke clogged her nostrils. Cold chills raced over her skin when she realized what was happening, and she turned to sprint toward the water. Her flight stirred interest, and the cry was raised only seconds later. "Fire! The fishing village is on fire!"

Lyra raced toward the buildings, followed by most of the town. It occurred to her that Bevin might have remained hidden at home instead of going to the Chantry, and a toppled candle would explain the sudden flare up. If she was right, Bevin was trapped. Alistair's voice implored her to stop, wait for him, but she paid him no mind. There was no _time_. An image of Oren flashed through her mind - if she couldn't save the girl's brother, she would die trying.

Skidding to a halt at the edge of the burning buildings, she began to call out. "Bevin! Bevin, are you in there?" Her agitated feet paced back and forth in front of the weathered shacks, searching for signs of life. Murmurs of horror grew behind her as the flames crept over the curtains of one house, brightening the blackness with a deathly yellow light.

"Bevin!" she shouted again.

"I'm up here!" a child's frightened voice called back, and she looked up to see a small silhouette in a second-story window. The townsfolk gasped, and the girl screamed her little brother's name.

The fire raged, the lower story engulfed in flames. Already the heat could be felt even from this distance; there wasn't much time, and no way through.

There was nothing else for it. Lyra unlaced her boots and greaves. If she was going to climb, she needed freedom of movement and to be able to grip with her toes. Her gloves came off as well, her helmet joining the growing pile. Last went her daggers, and then she ran toward the building, searching for footholds. A short railing on the side of the porch invited her to climb, allowing her to find purchase on the roof's edge with her bare fingers. After getting her grip, she swung one leg up onto the overhang, arms straining to support the weight of her armor. Whenever she'd climbed trees, it was usually in plain linen.

"Don't worry Bevin, I'm coming," she called, heaving herself onto the shingles. The roof was pitched, and Lyra was gratified that she'd thought to go barefoot. In seconds she stood before the window, helping the small boy climb through. His face was smudged with soot and tears, and he shook as he came into her arms for a frightened hug.

"Do you think you can cling to me, very tightly?" she whispered to him. He nodded, eyes wide as saucers. She slung him onto her back and pulled his legs around her waist, locking his ankles around each other. "Feel those straps on my back? Put your arms through and grab onto your own wists, like you're hugging someone very tightly. Hold onto them so you don't choke me," she instructed, and she felt Bevin slide his arms through the straps that held her dagger sheaths. When she was certain he was secure, she got down on her hands and knees and backed up the few feet toward the porch overhang. Easing over the edge, she made certain of her hold, then told Bevin to hang on. Desperate gasps came from behind them as Lyra swung them over the edge, her fingertips the only thing preventing their fall. Lyra had planned to drop the last few feet, but strong hands pulled her from the roof and guided her gently to the ground. Bevin was lifted from her back, and someone else led her away from the house; she was never sure who.

.oOo.

Alistair watched as a matronly woman steered Lyra toward the Chantry, away from the hullabaloo surrounding the burning homes. He'd been the first to rush to her assistance, reaching up to help her down from the roof. As soon as she was safely on the ground, the women of the town had taken charge of her, clucking and worrying like a flock of hens. Though in retrospect she'd had the situation well in hand, Alistair's heart had climbed into his throat to see her climb the roof of a burning building. Even now his pulse raced, anxiety speeding adrenaline through his veins. It was one of the riskiest things he'd ever witnessed The roof could have collapsed, she could have slipped, Bevin might have panicked and sent them both tumbling from the shingles...

Alistair raked a hand through his hair, uncertain of what to think. Lyra had made herself extremely clear - she wanted nothing but friendship from him. He knew he would be wise to respect those wishes. Yet, his rebellious heart knew what it wanted, and didn't seem interested in listening to logic.

* * *

><p><em>updated 76/13, with the help of wintryone. :-)_


	13. A Mother's Love

**Chapter 12****  
>A Mother's Love<strong>

"My friends," Bann Teagan began, a grand smile on his face. "We have triumphed over impossible odds. Even more unbelievably, not a single life was lost during last night's battle. We all owe our lives to the Grey Wardens and their companions! People of Redcliffe, I ask that you lift your voices for Lyra Cousland and her company, the Champions of Redcliffe!"

The assembled townsfolk did just that, and Lyra found herself bodily pushed to the steps of the Chantry beside Bann Teagan. Alistair was right behind her, his hair perfect and his presence distracting. Since yesterday afternoon's odd moments between them, her awareness of him had tripled. She tried to smile at the townsfolk, hoping she didn't look too much like a wooden doll.

"As if that wasn't enough, Lyra returned Bevin to us as well, after he was discovered missing from the Chantry. We are fortunate to have someone among us who can scale a roof while wearing armor!" The townsfolk laughed, and little Bevin waved at Lyra. She waved back, his innocent joy bringing the first sincere smile to her face. All little boys share certain similarities, and Bevin's likeness to Oren brought a lump to her throat.

Teagan continued to extol their merits, much to Lyra's embarrassment, and the townsfolks cheered some more. "Can we go yet?" she murmured to Alistair.

"But, your worshipers…" he whispered back.

Lyra groaned, causing Alistair to chuckle, and then she felt a faint touch on the small of her back. She jumped, surprised, and the sensation vanished. The feeling of that touch had been nothing bad, quite the opposite, in fact - it had been comforting, a kindness... she hadn't meant to make it seem as if she didn't appreciate it.

"Sorry, uh... they're nearly done, I'm sure," he whispered, sounding uncomfortable.

During Teagan's brief lull, Mother Hannah chanted a prayer for those who'd perished in the previous attacks, and Lyra tried to focus on that, rather than the nearness of the man standing behind her.

"We shall be victims no longer," Teagan continued to address the crowd. "With the help of our Wardens, I will find out what has happened to the Guerrins! We will discover what evil is behind these attacks!"

The townsfolk cheered once more, Teagan's inspirational words igniting hope where before there had only been despair. The townspeople drifted from the Chantry, the sound of happy chatter dispersing with them.

Lyra was about to beat a hasty retreat when Teagan spoke once more. "Lyra, Alistair, will you meet me at the windmill in an hour? Bring your companions, of course," he said, then hurried off on his own errands.

Kestrel bounded up the steps and nearly knocked Lyra over. His look of pride was unmistakable. "I'm proud of you too, boy!" she said as she hugged him tight. "You must have killed twenty of them all on your own. Such a fierce war dog."

Kestrel growled playfully, his hindquarters wagging in agreement.

"Can I pet him?" Bevin stood beside his sister Kaitlyn, who looked a touch nervous at the sight of the warhound.

Lyra smiled and held out her hand to Bevin, and with a wide grin, he clambered up the steps and took it, gazing up at them both with open admiration.

Lyra's heart melted. Alistair's words came back to her, about how Grey Wardens could never have children. A sudden ache bloomed in her chest. She'd never given it much thought, but now that the ability was denied her, it seemed so unfair.

_Enough sadness for one week, _she thought. Addressing Kestrel with complete solemnity, she said, "Kestrel, this is Bevin. He's the one I helped down off the roof last night. Bevin, this is Kestrel, my mabari hound." She guided Bevin's hand to Kestrel's head and showed him how to scratch just behind the hound's ears. Bevin giggled, and Kestrel began to writhe and wiggle, in that way only a dog can when he's rubbed in just the right spot.

"No dignity at all," Lyra said sadly when Kestrel rolled onto his back and presented his belly to Bevin. The child dropped to his knees with a laugh, happy to fulfill the warhound's request. Kestrel lolled like a limp rag, his tongue hanging from the corner of his mouth. It was a ridiculous sight, and Lyra couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up within her.

"I - I want to thank you, miss," Kaitlyn said. "Bevin and I... we only got each other now. Mother was killed the first night, in the attacks, and I don't know what I woulda done if I'd lost my brother too."

"Why did you go back to the house, Bevin? Weren't you supposed to stay in the Chantry with your sister?" Lyra asked. Alistair had leaned on a post behind her, a look of quiet enjoyment on his face.

Bevin shrugged, though he looked shamefaced. "I thought maybe I could fight. Da left me his sword when he died. It was Gran-Da's before him. I went to get it."

"Bevin, you're too small to fight! And that sword... it's so old. I don't even think it's sharp anymore," Kaitlyn scolded, embarrassed.

"Do you have any other family? What will you and Bevin do now?" Lyra's brow furrowed as she thought of the two children trying to survive during a Blight, all on their own.

Kaitlyn looked down at her feet, scratching one ankle with the toe of her boot. "We've got an aunt and uncle in Denerim. But there's no money to hire a carriage to get there, and I don't think we could walk - not without an escort. Neither of us can fight... I guess I don't know," she said, her voice bleak. "We lost most of our things in the fire, but the cottage is still standing, so I suppose we can repair it and stay on here. Maybe I can take in washing..." Kaitlyn drooped, unwilling to meet Lyra's gaze.

Lyra's heart twisted. The girl knelt beside her brother, unaware of the Warden's inner struggle. Kestrel whined suggestively, clearly wanting Kaitlyn to join in the fun. Bevin yanked his sister's hand toward the dog. "He's nice, see?" the boy said as Kaitlyn acquiesced and began to rub the dog's belly.

Lyra glanced back at Alistair, who'd remained quiet. Hopping up to stand beside him, she leaned in to whisper in his ear. "How much money have we got left?"

Alistair shrugged. "Between us? I think I have three or four sovereigns, and I don't know what you have. Why?"

"Lend me one?" she whispered.

Without a moment's hesitation, Alistair opened his belt pouch and retrieved the gold, pressing it into her palm. She smiled her thanks, then stepped back down to the children.

"I'd like to see this old sword of yours," she said to Bevin. "Can you get it?"

Bevin nodded eagerly and raced off to the fishing village. He was back in a few moments, holding a old, but serviceable curved blade. He handed the sword to Lyra, panting a bit from his run.

"Now this," Lyra said with admiration. "This is a sword." She stepped away and took a few practice swings, hoping she didn't look as inept as she felt. Definitely larger than what she was used to, though it didn't feel like it would be too difficult to learn. "I don't suppose I could persuade you to sell it to me?" Lyra said, lowering the blade.

Kaitlyn's eyes widened. "Uh - well, yes! You saved Bevin, how could I refuse? I don't know what it's worth, though," she finished.

Lyra was digging in her belt pouch. "Would five sovereigns be enough?"

Kaitlyn's eyes looked as if they would pop out of her head.

"I don't have much more," Lyra continued apologetically. "It's a very valuable sword, though, and I want to give you what it's worth. Is it a deal?" She held out the coins.

Kaitlyn gulped. A moment ago she'd been drowning, but by the transformation of her face Lyra's offer was the lifeline she'd needed so desperately. "Y-yes, yes! Oh, miss, with this money we can go to Denerim, and our aunt and uncle won't hesitate a moment to take us in! I'm sure of it! And we can buy some new clothes and food for the journey. Thank you, ever so much!" She threw her arms around Lyra, and Lyra pressed her cheek against the top of the girl's head, hugging her back. Kaitlyn released her then and held her hand out to Bevin, who said a reluctant goodbye to Kestrel before waving to Lyra.

Alistair hadn't moved from the steps, though an amused glint shone in his eye when she turned to look at him. Lyra shifted, feeling a need to explain why she'd just handed a small fortune to a teenager. "I couldn't help it. I couldn't stand the thought of them without their parents, her only fourteen... well, I don't know how old she is, but she _looks_ about fourteen-"

Alistair held up a hand to stop her. "You don't have to explain. I understand completely why you did it. You have a very caring heart, Lyra." One corner of his mouth rose, his dimples peeking.

Leliana was right. He was too good looking to be real. Damn the man! Her heart was doing that strange race-thump again. "So... I seem to own a sword," she said, indicating the antique blade. "Think you can teach me to use it?"

"Sure. Want a lesson now?"

.oOo.

"I must tell you more about Eamon," Teagan began. "I wasn't sure how much time we had, and I didn't waste it on a lot of detail. The villagers don't know what I'm about to tell you; we didn't want there to be panic. But, well, I'm afraid that Eamon didn't just fall ill. He was poisoned."

Alistair and Lyra exchanged a bleak glance. _Of course,_ Lyra thought. _It fits the pattern. I can guess who arranged it._

Leliana had seated herself nearby on a small rock beside the windmill, her hands tucked beneath her legs. Morrigan and Sten stood back a few paces, listening quietly.

"What happened, Teagan?" Alistair asked.

Teagan sighed and began twisting the signet ring on his finger. He'd opened his mouth to speak when an accented female voice called out.

"Teagan! Teagan, oh Teagan..."

"Isolde?" Teagan asked incredulously.

An attractive woman in an elegant dress came tearing down the mountain path, a pair of guards running behind her. Soft honey-blonde hair had been gathered into a chignon at the nape of her neck, though a few tendrils had escaped in her haste to reach them. She came to a skidding halt in front of Teagan and threw herself into his arms. Lyra recognized her from many years ago - Arlessa Isolde, Arl Eamon's wife.

"Oh Teagan, I am so glad to see you! Please, you must come to the castle with me. Right away. Connor needs your help!" The delicate Orlesian voice muffled in Teagan's shirt, sobs forming around her words.

"Isolde! I was just about to come to the castle." Teagan held her gently away from him to look in her eyes. "Are you alright? What's been going on? We've had no end of trouble in the village!"

"Teagan, I have very little time to explain. Connor is... you must come. He needs your help! Please, come with me now!" She tugged on Teagan's hand, but Lyra stepped in.

"I'm sorry, but he's not going anywhere alone," she said firmly.

For the first time, Isolde seemed to notice the others. "I'm sorry... who are you? Wait... Alistair? What are you doing here?" Isolde seemed taken aback, and not all that pleased to see the senior Warden.

"Hello, Isolde," Alistair said. "We were just about to hear more about Eamon, but please, tell us what your trouble is."

Isolde ignored Alistair and began speaking to Teagan again, which only increased Lyra's annoyance.

"Who is this... _woman_, Teagan? What are you telling her?" she demanded, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.

"Isolde, this is Lyra Cousland. She and Alistair arrived in Redcliffe yesterday, with their companions, and if it weren't for them no one would be alive in the village today. I was about to inform them of Eamon's true condition when you came down the path. Has Eamon worsened?"

Isolde shook her head, turning her focus from Lyra for now. "He lives. But Teagan, it is Connor who needs help. You are his uncle – you can speak with him. He'll listen to you. Please, I don't have much time... I promised him I would come right back-"

"Do you_ know _what's been happening in Redcliffe?" Lyra interjected. The woman was trying her patience with her begging and her tears. But even aside from that, something about the whole thing just didn't feel right.

Isolde turned to Lyra and opened her mouth, but Lyra beat her to it. The young Warden's voice exploded around them. "Every night, there have been attacks. The _undead_ have been killing your citizens! If thirty people remain alive in Redcliffe Village, I would call that number generous. No one had any idea if the folk at the castle still lived, because there has been no word. Smith Owen is mad with grief for his daughter Valena – your own maid. And now you appear out of nowhere, begging Bann Teagan for help, but claiming to have no time to elaborate? I'm sorry, Lady Isolde, but we must have information. Explain. Now."

Isolde's mouth dropped open, a gasp of righteous shock falling from those perfect lips. Alistair shifted, and Lyra stole a glance at him. He cleared his throat, turning his face toward the earth - but not before Lyra had caught the joyous sparkle in his eye.

"How dare you…" Isolde hissed.

"Please, Isolde, tell us what is going on," Teagan interrupted. "These people want to help. Lady Cousland is a Grey Warden."

Isolde shot a murderous glance at Lyra before she turned back to Teagan. "Connor is... not himself. There is a force, an evil force, that has... overtaken him. He has been sending the walking dead into the village each night. It is almost as if he is _playing_. It is all the fault of that mage!" Isolde's voice broke as yet more tears slid down her cheeks.

"Back up. An evil force?" Alistair asked.

"What mage, Isolde?" Lyra asked.

The noblewoman took a breath and continued. "His name is Jowan. He is the one who poisoned Eamon. We had him locked up. But then Connor _changed_, and the attacks began. I have questioned him, but it is obvious Jowan is lying. Why else would Connor be as he is, if Jowan did not enchant him?"

"It sounds more like the work of a demon," Morrigan observed. She sauntered forward, her hips shifting in a slow rhythm. "If the Fade was torn somehow, 'twould allow spirits to enter and possess the bodies of the dead. Hence, your undead army."

"A demon...?" Isolde whispered in horror. "Oh, my son…"

"But a question remains, Lady Isolde. Why was this Jowan at your castle?" Morrigan cut straight to the heart of the matter. Five pairs of eyes shifted back to Isolde.

The woman seemed to fold in on herself, her voice a soft whimper. "Connor... began to show signs... of having magic. But I didn't want to lose him, so I sought an apostate, someone outside the Circle to teach him. I thought - if he learned just enough, enough to _hide _his magic…"

"And Eamon didn't know." Alistair concluded in an amazed voice. "Of course he didn't. He would have sent the boy straight to the Circle."

"Could Connor have caused all of this?" Lyra asked Morrigan.

"'Tis possible. Even as a young mage, he could have unintentionally torn the Fade, especially if he was possessed by a demon," Morrigan said in a matter-of-fact tone.

"We have no time to waste." The Bann turned back to Isolde and said, "I will join you in a moment, my dear. Wait for me by the path."

"Please hurry, Teagan," Isolde whispered before she fled.

Teagan turned back to Lyra. He drew the ring from his hand and held it up, displaying the Guerrin family crest. "This ring unlocks a trapdoor in the windmill. It will lead you into the castle. Please, go through the passage and meet me there. I think it would be better if we didn't alert this… _presence_… to _your _presence. The element of surprise may serve us very well." A grim smile touched Teagan's face. "The passage leads into the cellars, and if you go up the stairs you will be in the courtyard of the castle. Open the gate for Ser Perth and his men – they will be able to help you from there."

"Be careful, Teagan," Lyra said. "We'll meet you in the castle."

Teagan left with Isolde, and Lyra turned to her companions. "Sten, stay here with Kestrel and guard the entrance to the windmill. The rest of us – Leliana, Morrigan, Alistair and I – will go to the castle. Questions?"

No one said a word, their silence affirmation enough. With a firm nod, Lyra pulled open the windmill door.

.oOo.

"These creatures are of the Fade... I can smell the dream world upon them." Morrigan slung her staff onto her back.

The cellar of Arl Eamon's estate seemed also to be the 'dungeon', though there were but six cells attached to a few storage rooms. Twice now, they'd been attacked by animated skeletons. Whatever the driving force behind the curse was, it still very much active.

Alistair swung his sword and three frozen corpses exploded into a thousand shards of ice. "The dream world has a smell?" Alistair asked, sliding his sword back onto his back.

"Yes. To the non-Mage, I imagine 'twould compare to the smell of lyrium, mixed with other things. I find it to be somewhat bitter and herbal, like nightshade."

"I don't smell anything."

"With the body odor you produce, I hardly find that surprising," Morrigan said airily.

Lyra heard Alistair growl in response. There was no time for an intervention, though. Taking the opportunity to search the corpses, Lyra found about thirty silver and stowed it away._Funny how all these monsters carry money,_ she thought._ But then, I suppose they were once human._ She tried to forget that particular thought as she eased a silver bracelet from a bony wrist. _They're just _things_. And these are spoils of war,_ she thought grimly as she tucked the bracelet into her pack. Perhaps she could sell it in another town. Although the proper thing to do would be try and find the family it once belonged to... _Andraste's ass, I need this more than they do. Maker's sake, Lyra, stop being so soft. You've already ensured Kaitlyn and Bevin will live, what else can you possibly do?_ She hardened her heart, well aware of how much worse it could be. If the most heinous thing she did today was pick coppers off corpses, she'd consider herself lucky.

"Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?" a trembling male voice called.

Unfolding from her crouch and unsheathing her daggers, Lyra peered into the gloom, creeping toward the voice after a moment's study.

In a cell around the corner was a young mage wearing filthy blue robes and a few days' stubble. A haggard, haunted look marred his face, and he gripped the bars when he saw Lyra. "Thank the Maker you've come. I haven't seen anyone in two days... or... are you here to finish it?" he quavered.

"Finish what?" Lyra asked as she put her daggers away.

"Lady Isolde didn't send you? I thought it was time for another torture session. I don't know what she wants to hear – I'm not the cause of what's happening!" the man wailed.

"Then you _didn't_ poison Arl Eamon?" Lyra asked, making an intuitive leap. This must be the mage Isolde had mentioned... Jowan.

The mage shuffled, nervous now. "Well... I - yes, I poisoned the Arl. But I had nothing to do with the walking corpses, I swear it!" Jowan said in a vehement voice.

Lyra narrowed her eyes. "Why should I believe you?"

"Why would I admit to poisoning the Arl, but not admit to this?" Jowan countered.

"Where did they come from then, if not from you?" Alistair asked.

"It may have been Connor. He only knows a few spells, but if he did something to tear the Veil, this could easily be the result."

"Oh certainly, it would be _easy_ for an untrained nine-year old to summon and control demons," Lyra said sarcastically. Reaching through the bars, she gathered a handful of Jowan's robes and yanked him close. "A village is dead because of you. Talk faster," she growled.

"It - it isn't impossible for it to be Connor. If he was c-contacted by a demon, in the Fade. A demon would w-work _through_ him. It wouldn't really be Connor doing this at all – just an evil entity using his b-body and power," Jowan stuttered, naked terror in his eyes.

Lyra stared hard at the mage for a moment, then let him go. "Why would a demon use a little boy? Wouldn't they do better with someone like _you_?" she snapped.

Jowan slumped, rubbing his neck where his robes had chafed. "To be possessed by a demon is to become an abomination. I have no want for that. We are trained at the Circle to resist the demons who tempt us, but Connor was only at the very beginning of his training. I was doing the best I could to teach him."

"Yes, you did quite well," Morrigan drawled. Jowan seemed not to hear.

"You said you were an apostate. Yet you mention training at the Circle?" Leliana interjected.

Jowan sighed. "They were going to make me Tranquil. I escaped, and I've been running ever since. When Teyrn Loghain contacted me and offered me this job, he said he would make things right for me with the Circle... I thought he was offering me my life."

Goosebumps rose on Lyra's skin, her throat constricting as Jowan's words sank in. "_Loghain _hired you. To poison Arl Eamon."

"Yes. He said the arl was a threat to Ferelden, that I was doing my country a service. I believed him. He's a hero," Jowan said simply.

Lyra clenched her fists, hot rage building with her breast. When would it end? What else had Loghain orchestrated? Perhaps Alistair noticed her struggle, for he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. Eyes falling shut, Lyra drew a deep breath, regaining her control. "What about Connor? Why would he let a demon possess him?"

"The demon would have offered Connor something he wanted. A deal. Connor had to knowingly accept the demon for it to gain power."

"What could a demon possibly offer Connor?" Alistair asked, puzzled.

"I don't know. But it's as good a working explanation as we're likely to have for now." Lyra looked at Jowan again. "I don't know what will happen to you after this is all over. If it were up to me I would have you drawn and quartered."

Jowan deflated even more. "I've done terrible things. I wish I could make them right... you are right, though. I deserve death," he whispered.

"That happy decision is not mine to make, however," Lyra snipped. "You'll remain here, and I'm sure someone will send for you when the time comes." Turning on her heel, she marched off, her anger simmering.

.oOo.

Bann Teagan was catapulting and doing somersaults, waving his hands and dancing before the fireplace in Redcliffe's main hall. _What is wrong with him?_ Lyra thought as they strode forward.

They'd made their way through the dungeons and up into the courtyard, where more undead adversaries awaited. Lyra threw the switch to open the portcullis, and Ser Perth and his knights had rushed in to assist. When the last skeleton collapsed, Lyra and the others had hurried inside to find Bann Teagan.

The scene before them was... bizarre. A lad with red-brown hair stood before the fireplace, scowling at Teagan's antics. Isolde watched from the sidelines, her shoulders slumped, a desperate look in her eyes.

"Enough, Uncle."

Teagan stopped his capering and scampered up to crouch beside the boy, his eyes leering and comical.

"Who is this? How did you get in? My soldiers should have stopped you," the boy thundered. His voice had a strange, deep, otherworldly quality... Lyra was certain it wasn't Connor speaking, but the demon.

"Connor… this is… a woman…" Isolde began in a broken voice.

"Yes, I can _see_ it is a woman," the boy sneered. "She is prettier than you, and younger. I am surprised you do not have her killed."

Isolde buried her face in her hands, a choked sob slipping through her fingers.

Connor was dressed in simple clothing, but his presence seemed almost to shimmer with faint blue light. His eyes glittered, and Lyra shivered.

Connor staggered then, one hand rising to press against his temple. The glow faded, his eyes returning to normal. "Mother? Mother? I'm frightened…" he whimpered.

Isolde rushed to his side, throwing her arms around him as she knelt. "It will be fine, my son. I will not let anyone hurt you." One hand lifted to stroke his hair.

"Get away from me, woman!" the boy howled. Isolde cried out in fear, stumbling away with a pathetic whimper. The blue glow had returned. Connor turned to his guests. "So. _Woman._Why have you come?" Connor sneered.

Lyra's mind raced. "I want to help you."

"_Help _me? You cannot help me. I have everything I need. Father is safe, and every night I send out my soldiers to conquer the world. Now_ I _am ruler. But you... you're trying to spoil it. You want to stop me!" Connor's voice had risen to a shriek. "I will _not _allow it!" Without warning, the youth tore from the room.

Everything was still for half a moment.

Lyra was on the verge of cracking a joke about childish tantrums, but the words died on her lips when the sound of scraping metal drew her attention. Whipping around, Lyra's heart stopped to see the decorative suits of armor lining the walls come to life.

_Armor? How do I fight empty suits of armor?!_ she thought in desperation, but her body answered the question before her mind could. She drew her daggers and rolled backward, avoiding the swing of a mighty war-axe. Sparks flew as the blade scraped the stone floor. She swept with her leg, and the suit of armor fell over in a crash and stopped moving. Muscles coiled with tension, Lyra stared for a moment, but when it became clear she had "killed" it she jumped up to assist her companions. "Knock them over!" she cried.

Frost flew from Morrigan's staff, her eyes flashing as the cone of cold expanded to freeze three of the disembodied knights in their tracks. Leliana kicked out with a booted foot, toppling two of them. The final two had cornered Alistair, and Lyra rushed to assist. Choosing the closest, she stabbed at the slit in the helmet where her opponent's eyes should have been, cursing her instincts when her dagger met with nothing. Reflexes were doing her little good, here. The empty suit swung a greatsword at her, forcing her to let go of her dagger and duck the blow.

Using the movement, she brought her shoulder up into its solar plexus, hoping to fell the suit. Like a tree under a woodman's axe it toppled, crashing to the floor. Alistair drove forward with his shield and slammed it into his opponent, using pure force in lieu of finesse. It was enough - the last standing suit fell, and all was lifeless in the hall once more.

Lady Isolde shook Bann Teagan, imploring him to wake up. Lyra and her companions strode forward, sheathing their weapons. Teagan blinked, reeling as reason returned to his face.

"Oh Teagan..." Isolde cried as she threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him from his feet. "Thank the Maker you're alright!"

"Yes... what happened?" Teagan unwound himself from Isolde's clutches. "Where's Connor?"

"He ran off," Isolde said in a tearful voice. "Please, I am begging you. Don't hurt my son. I only want to keep him safe."

"That's how you got him into this mess. By wanting to keep him safe," Lyra said crisply. "If he'd been sent to the Circle, none of this would have happened."

"You are right, but... please. He is all I have. And he's - the demon doesn't always have control of Connor. He comes out sometimes. You saw. He's still there – my son is human yet, and we must save him!" Isolde wept.

Something was niggling the back of Lyra's brain, and she pulled the thought forward. "Connor said his father is safe. What did he mean by that?"

"Eamon's coma. Could it be that the demon stabilized him? At Connor's request?" Alistair speculated.

As soon as the words left Alistair's lips, Lyra knew they were true. "The deal," she breathed. "That's what the demon offered Connor."

"Please, what can be done for my son?" Isolde asked desperately.

Lyra glanced at Morrigan, who shrugged her shoulders. "Do not look to me, for I do not know. My magic does not give me omniscience," she said, sounding annoyed. "As far as I am concerned, 'twould be best to kill the boy. The demon will die as well, and our problem will be solved."

"No!" Isolde shrieked. "There must be another way!"

As much as Lyra disliked the arlessa, she couldn't help but agree with her. She had little desire to kill a child, no matter what evil had been forced upon him.

Alistair cleared his throat. "We could travel to the Circle of Magi, ask them for help. It's only about a day away from here."

Lyra seized upon the idea, but then her heart sank. "What about the nightly attacks? Won't there be another one tonight? Connor needs to be dealt with _now_," she fretted.

Behind her, Morrigan sighed. "I may have a solution. I know a spell that can slow time in a limited area. Mother used it for food storage, but it may work to keep Connor in stasis while you are gone. It takes a good deal of my strength to set the spell, however, and I will be without power for a day or so afterward."

"You would do this for us, Morrigan?" Lyra asked, amazed.

"You say that as if I have no interest in the outcome of this quest. Yes, I will help in whatever capacity I can. I am not _entirely_ without feelings," Morrigan sniped.

Leliana beamed at the witch, who returned her delighted smile with an icy glare. "Your help is appreciated, Morrigan. It must feel good to be able to offer such a skill," the redhead said in a cheeky voice.

Morrigan rolled her eyes at Leliana. "I have heard all I wish from _you_, sister. I will find Connor, and perform the spell." Decision made, Morrigan strode from the room.

"We should leave right away, then." Alistair turned to Isolde. "Can you supply us with food for the journey?"

"Yes, I will get supplies for you." Isolde hurried out, ready to agree to anything.

"I'll go to the village and retrieve Sten," Leliana said. "He can help Morrigan guard Connor."

Lyra nodded to her friend, who jogged from the room. Pulling the signet ring from her pouch, she handed it to Bann Teagan.

"Thank you." Teagan's voice was grateful. "You have done so much for us already. Thank you for taking on yet another task in service of Redcliffe. I will write a letter for you to give to the First Enchanter." Seconds later he was gone as well.

Lyra was left standing in the empty room with Alistair. She sank down to sit on the step leading up to the fireplace, and Alistair slowly sat near her, keeping a few feet of distance between them.

There was a moment of silence, and then Alistair said, "I'm glad we're doing this."

"I am too. I didn't want to kill Connor." Lyra clasped her hands around her knees.

Alistair hesitated, and then said "Look, about what happened yesterday."

"When?" Lyra asked.

"After we spoke to Berwick, in the tavern. You seemed... upset. I want you to know, I didn't mean anything by hugging you like that. I just... you seemed like you needed some comfort. I hope I didn't offend you," he said uneasily as one hand rubbed the back of his neck.

"Oh - it's fine. Think nothing of it," Lyra said, trying to keep things light. "I just needed a moment to gather my thoughts. You were right, though. We had to stay. But after we return from the Mage's Circle, we _are_ going to Denerim. I need to look Loghain in the eye and ask him about my family."

Alistair nodded, looking uncomfortable. "We can, if you'd like... but there are still several other groups we need to talk to about the treaties, and-"

"Why are you telling me this?" Lyra burst out, pushing to her feet. "I know we have work to do! I know what's at stake, Alistair! Do _you_? Loghain is stealing the throne, and no one knows what he's done! He quit the field at Ostagar, but no one knows that except us! For all they know, the rumors are true, and he's a hero in their eyes! He's got hunters looking for us, and he's smearing the name of the Grey Wardens. We are the _only_ thing standing between the Blight and all of Ferelden, and you want me to just _hand_ Loghain all the power? I won't do it!"

Alistair's mouth fell open. He rose to his feet as well, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. "Look, I'm not saying we shouldn't confront Loghain-"

"Then what are you saying?" she demanded, her fury refusing to lessen.

"There's no need to be angry with me-"

"There you go again, telling me what to do. Just - just back off, Alistair!" she snarled, and stalked from the room.

.oOo.

Alistair was struck dumb. He'd never seen Lyra like this. "Fine, I will!" he shouted after her. "You make the decisions – I won't stand in your way!" Disbelief boiled through him. What in the world had just happened? Fists balling, Alistair began to pace, at a complete loss.

Telling her what to do? Just where did she get off? He'd done nothing of the sort! _Of course, I can see her point_, he snarked to himself. How _dare_ he suggest that they do their duty and save all of Thedas from certain doom? Worst idea ever. Better to go skipping to Denerim, so Loghain could have them arrested for treason and thrown in a dungeon for a thousand years.

_Gah!_ He hadn't been telling her what to do, just offering advice. She was the one who'd gotten all... all..._ insane!_ Teeth clenched, Alistair drew his sword and slammed it violently down onto one of the suits of armor. The pieces scattered, flung in every direction across the floor as he vented his frustration on the lifeless metal.

* * *

><p><em>updated 727/13, with the awesome help of wintryone_


	14. A Daughter's Tears

**Chapter 13  
>A Daughter's Tears<strong>

Blind rage led Lyra's feet to the first room she'd seen with a door that would close behind her. Slamming it shut, she stumbled further in, slumping into a small corner created by a bookshelf and the wall. It was childish to cry, juvenile to let her emotions control her like this...

So be it.

Sliding down the wall, Lyra's face crumpled as she curled herself against her upraised knees. Arms wrapped around her legs as she shook with fear and uncertainty, her tears falling unbidden. Why was this happening?

Memories chased through her mind, things she'd shrugged off for days in her attempt to be strong. Oren's face, brought to mind by Bevin's smile. Oriana's caring hands, recalled by Leliana's gentle touch. Rory's charming grin, almost the same as... she shoved the thought away, refusing to acknowledge her attraction to her fellow Warden. Everything was awhirl, and a need to howl at the unfairness of it all clawed its way from her tightened throat.

Why did Arlessa Isolde get to be the winner here? _Her _husband was alive, even if he _was _comatose. _Her_ child was well, even if he was possessed by a demon. What granted Isolde the good fortune to come out on top? What curse had cast Lyra's family to the wolves? It wasn't as if Isolde was a better person or more worthy, which made her blessed luck all the more maddening in Lyra's eyes.

And just what gave Alistair the right to dictate how Lyra handled her grief? To tell her what to do? Couldn't he _see_ how important this was? It wasn't just about her - it was about _Ferelden_. From the moment Lyra had realized Loghain's plan, one terrible need had impressed itself upon her. Stop him. Keep the throne from falling into his hands. It was her duty as a Cousland; her duty to Ferelden.

_As if I needed one more duty_, she thought bitterly.

Sniffling, Lyra dragged her palm across her cheek, brushing away wetness. Grit from her gloves scratched her skin, and she sobbed anew, frustrated to be so filthy, tired and aching, her skin filmed with dust and dried sweat. How she longed for a hot bath and a soft bed, instead of her flimsy bedroll in a cold, damp field. Digging in her pouch, she retrieved Alistair's handkerchief.

The sight of the rumpled cloth only set her to crying again. Alistair was so _good_. Strong, kind... handsome. Funny. Wonderful.

_No!_ her mind shrieked.

_Why?_ her heart begged in return. _Would it be so bad?_

How she longed for someone to care for her, for someone to promise that it would be all right, that things would turn out fine in the end. Her twentieth name day had just passed, and Lyra had never been on her own. Pampered and coddled, she'd built herself up to believe she could do anything - but now, it was either succeed or die. There was no halfway, and no one to catch her if she stumbled.

Well, maybe not exactly no one...

Alistair's laughter echoed in her mind, bits and snatches of conversation coming back to her. _"I can't help it if I'm stunningly handsome and have animal magnetism, to boot." _And the way he'd waggled his eyebrows at her so impishly, so charmingly. He was just so... so very... Alistair.

Despite her raw mood, she giggled, the memory of his silliness the healing tonic she needed.

_"Even stark naked and dripping wet, I doubt you'd have trouble with attackers."_

Another giggle. He'd looked so flummoxed when he realized he'd spoken the words aloud... blushing, she wondered just what thoughts had been in his head at that moment.

_"I just thought you should know what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find, amidst all this darkness."_

The rose was still in her pack. What man picked roses, just _because_? Could it be he'd actually picked it with her in mind?

_"You do not see it, ma chère. But the way he looks at you is so much more."_ Leliana's voice.

Lyra bit her lip.

Her nose was still stopped up, though the tears had mostly ceased. The handkerchief quickly became a sopping mess again as she cleared her sinuses. _And I just washed it,_ she lamented. _Oh well. I can wash it again. I forgot to give it back to him._

Enough with tantrums. The world kept spinning, no matter what she might want. Standing, Lyra overbalanced and knocked her foot against the bookshelf, jarring a small box to the floor. The lid slipped off, revealing... a locket?

Curious, Lyra stooped to gather it in her fingers. The box was nothing special, a bit of woodwork done by some beginner - perhaps even Connor. The locket, though...

It was old, first of all. Clay, perhaps, or... no, not metal. Something that had been broken and pieced back together by patient and clever fingers. Cracks and lines riddled the surface, but were it not for the yellowing glue revealing the breaks Lyra never would have known it had been damaged. Easing it open, Lyra peered at the picture within.

It was a young woman, perhaps about her own age. Lyra's brow furrowed as she struggled to place just who the girl brought to mind. She had an oval face framed by dark hair, which skimmed her shoulders in a blunt cut. Such warmth radiated from her rich brown eyes, her happy smile accentuated by the deep dimples in her cheeks.

Lyra shook her head in wonder. The detail was fantastic; far too intricate for something so tiny. _I wonder if this was done by magic,_ she thought. _A mage could have shrunk a portrait to this size. I can't imagine an artist being able to create something this small, in such perfect rendering. What a wonderful way to carry a memory!_

Whoever the woman was, she didn't belong to Lyra, so the Warden tucked the locket back into the box and replaced it on the shelf.

Turning to leave, she hesitated. Two doors stood before her, and in her blubbering frenzy of the moment, now she couldn't remember which led out. Eyes darting, she chose one at random - and discovered a closet.

"Brilliant," she muttered, annoyed at herself. She'd begun to close the door again when a strange sight caught her eye. A delicate foot, poking out from beneath a pile of winter coats.

The oddity made her heart jump, and after another moment of deliberation, she lifted the pile of clothing away, hoping she wasn't about to discover a dead body. _Talk about skeletons in the closet..._

But the foot led to the body of a young woman, peacefully asleep with her arms tucked around her chest and her head leaned upon her shoulder. A ruffled white cap sat askew on her head, matching the apron tied about her waist. The foot Lyra had seen was bare, but her other foot wore a serviceable house shoe. It was servants' garb she wore, but too fancy to be a cook or a simple maid, her footwear inappropriate to outdoor work. Before Lyra could say or do anything, the girl startled awake.

"Oh! Oh my goodness, is it safe? Have they gone? I've been in here for so long…." She scrambled to her feet, stumbling out of the closet.

Lyra was speechless. How long had the girl been in here?

"I was hiding," she babbled on, her hands rising to pat her hair. "I think it must have been last night. Nearly everyone else in the castle had run off, but Arlessa Isolde begged me to stay with her. But last night there were_things_ running around the castle, and the arlessa and Connor had gone to the bedroom with Arl Eamon. I couldn't get there in time, and I hid in here. It's over, isn't it?"

Lyra found her voice. "You must be Valena! You're Owen's daughter?"

"Yes! Oh, is my father alright? I was so worried for him, down in the village! Arlessa Isolde said we mustn't leave or I would have gone to him! Please, tell me he lives!" Valena exclaimed.

"He does. He was very frightened for you. You should go to him. The paths are all clear – you can go straight down the mountain."

"Thank you, lady! Thank you kindly!" Valena sprinted past her, her gait wobbly with her single shoe. As Lyra watched, she reached down to yank it from her foot, chucking it aside.

Lyra was struck dumb at the maid's good fortune. As far as she could tell, everyone else in the castle was dead but Isolde, Connor and Eamon. Then she remembered something her mother had told her, long ago. "_A good ladies' maid is worth her weight in gold. When you find one you like, Lyra, keep her no matter what."_

Isolde must have found a good ladies' maid in Valena, and gone out of her way to protect the girl. It was sort of amusing, but sad at the same time. _She allowed the town to be ravaged, but protected her maid. Simply amazing. But then, she's no fighter... what else could she have done, but protect the ones she loved best?_

Lyra's head ached. She tucked Alistair's handkerchief back into her pouch, absently thinking that she'd return it to him after she'd washed it again. Enough time had been spent wallowing - there was work to do.

.oOo.

Alistair paced the room, wondering exactly what it was he had done wrong. His frustration had abated; after that one furious blast, there was no more desire to destroy. He worried the problem as a dog might worry a bone.

_Maker's breath, why is this my fault? I didn't mean anything by what I said. She said I was telling her what to do... maybe I was. I did say I wanted her to lead, after all. But shouldn't I be able to tell her what I think? We _do_have a lot of places to go, and a trip to Denerim is going to add at least three weeks to our plans. Plus, Loghain is looking for us. So that's brilliant; let's just march right into the lion's den. She's the one messing everything up. Why is this MY fault?_ The thoughts circled, making no progress in his head. He stopped pacing and leaned against the fireplace, brooding into the flames.

Teagan came into the room. "I've written the letter."

He didn't even notice the destroyed armor littering the floor – _Well, it's only one of six sets, why _should_ he notice? _Alistair thought with grim humor. Teagan handed him the rolled vellum, and Alistair thanked him and tucked it into his pouch.

"Where's Lyra?" Teagan asked.

Alistair flung a helpless hand at the doorway. "She stormed out a few moments ago. She wants to go to Denerim after we get back from the Mage's Circle, and I told her we have lots more treaties to see about, y'know, because of the Blight – and she just blew up at me! I don't understand it, Teagan."

Teagan sighed. "She is under a tremendous amount of pressure."

"What about me? I'm a Grey Warden, too. I'm pressured!"

Amusement twinkled in Teagan's eyes. "Yes, but if I know you Alistair, you've been letting her take on most of the decision making. True?"

Alistair sighed. "True enough."

"Help her, Alistair. She's quite young for all this responsibility."

"Yes, and I'm an old man who needs a posset before I'm tucked into bed. She's not _that_ much younger than me," Alistair huffed. "I was _trying_ to help her, Teagan. That's when she got all... strange."

"My boy, do your best. This is a job no one should have to take on alone. _Neither_ of you should have to take this on alone. But you are the only remaining Grey Wardens in Ferelden. It's a duty only the two of you can fulfill." Teagan clapped Alistair on the shoulder, and the young man rolled his eyes.

"Do your best... Great advice. Thanks for that, Teagan."

"Anytime, Alistair. It could be worse, you know. You could be king."

Alistair groaned. "You're right. That would be worse."

The two grinned at each other. Teagan had always been Alistair's favorite 'uncle'; one who'd taken him camping and come to visit him in the Chantry as a kid.

Lyra came striding back into the room, her face guarded and a bit smeary. "Sorry. Just... needed a moment," she mumbled.

Alistair forced a smile, though his stomach flipped at the sight of her. "No harm done. Uh, Teagan's given me the letter for the First Enchanter. Are you ready to leave?"

"Yes. But should we wait for Morrigan to-"

"It is done." Morrigan crept back into the room, draped on her staff. The witch was normally pale, but this was far worse than usual. Her skin had gone white with fatigue and illness. The spell had evidently taken much out of her. "I will need a place to rest for the remainder of the day. I trust you can give me that?"

Bann Teagan hurried over. "Connor is subdued?" he asked, anxious.

"He is. I cornered him in his room; he is now in his bed. He will remain in his somnolent state for up to three months, or until I dispel the enchantment."

Teagan beckoned her out. "I'll show you to a guest room."

Morrigan followed, leaving the room to the Wardens once more.

Lyra crossed her arms, her chin dipping to her chest. Alistair watched her for a moment, but when it became clear that she didn't intend to meet his gaze, he looked away, sick at heart. Whatever it was he'd done, she'd apparently made up her mind to hate him. Going back to the fire, Alistair folded his arms and leaned one shoulder on the wall, staring again into the dancing flames.

A few more awkward moments passed with neither saying a word. For the first time in Alistair's life, he was glad to see Isolde when she hurried in with a canvas bag.

"There is enough for three people to travel for three days," she said in a fretful voice. Lyra murmured her thanks as she took the sack. "Please, hurry back."

"It is as Morrigan said." Teagan's voice was full of wonder as he wandered back into the room. "I would think Connor was asleep, were his eyes not open. The world is full of amazement, is it not?"

"Connor is all right?" With a choked sob, Isolde fled the room, in a hurry to reach her son's side, or so Alistair assumed.

"Poor soul," Teagan sighed. "She's not had an easy time of it." He shook his head sadly. "But I see you are well supplied. Maker's blessing, Wardens. Return to us soon." Offering a smile and a handshake, Teagan walked them out to the courtyard.

"Maker's blessing, Teagan," Lyra whispered, offering the bann a half-hearted smile. Alistair's mouth did something similar, though happiness was the last thing he felt at the moment.

.oOo.

Once out of the castle, Alistair took a firm lead, his strides long and decided. Lyra slung the sack over her shoulder, content to follow for the time being, well aware of the uncomfortable silence between them. Her words had been hurtful - but perhaps that was better. This small wedge between them could be the beginning of the safety she'd sought, the assurance that there would be no more hurt in her life. She couldn't _take_ any more.

_He'll get over it,_ Lyra thought, her throat aching.

But as they approached the end of the hill, Alistair didn't slow - if anything, the tension across his shoulders only increased.

"Uh - shouldn't we wait for Leliana?" Lyra asked, jogging to catch up.

"We'll probably meet her as we go down the path," Alistair said in a tight voice.

"Look, just slow down-"

"We have a lot to do," Alistair shot back over his shoulder. "As you so kindly pointed out. This is what you want, isn't it? For us to get on with our business?"

"Pretty sure that's what _you_ want," Lyra snarked, annoyed with the attitude.

Alistair rounded on her, eyes pinched. "Look, I'm just following orders," he snapped. "You're the leader, you're the decision maker. You say _jump_, I ask _how high__?_"

"Oh for the love of Andraste!" Frustration crept back into Lyra's tone. "You _wanted_ me to lead!"

"You're right, I did," he said sarcastically. "Maker forbid I should have an opinion-"

"Don't be that way," she flared. "Why wouldn't you be allowed to have an opinion? I'm not some... dictator!"

"All I was doing was trying to keep _all_ of our responsibilities in mind!" Alistair yelled, his eyes flashing. "It isn't just about _you_, you know. We have a duty-"

"Damn it, I _know!_" Lyra shrieked, the sack of supplies sliding to the ground. "Duty! It's all I have! A Cousland does her duty. It's the mantra I was raised on, for cripe's sake! My father's last words to me were about my duty, my mother's last command was about my - duty-" Words thickened, harder to force out with each passing moment. Vision blurred, her breath catching. "Warn my brother. Avenge my family. Join the Wardens. Save the void-stricken world..."

This last came out a garbled mess, and she folded in on herself, collapsing at last under the strain. Some corner of her brain was horrified that she'd degenerated to such a state, and in front of another person, no less.

In an instant, Alistair's arms were around her again, and this time Lyra did not push him away. Instead she clung to him, her fingers digging between the plates of his splintmail. Strength rushed between them, his hand cradling the back of her neck as he shushed her. Great heaving sobs wracked her frame, but as the moments passed, she calmed, Alistair's comforting presence chasing away the demons that had haunted her for weeks.

.oOo.

A stream of sorrows poured from Lyra's lips as Alistair rocked her, his thumb tracing the line of her hair. His traitorous mind couldn't help but observe how well she fit in his arms, as if she'd been made for him to hold. How could he not have seen that her earlier anger of before had been because of _this_?

She was sad, so terribly sad. Little wonder; everyone she'd known and loved had died only a few weeks ago. And on top of that terrible loss, she'd had a whole new life thrust upon her. Guilt churned his stomach. Teagan was right, he should have been more supportive.

"I miss my parents, Alistair... I miss them so much! They were such good people. And Oren, and Oriana… it was so awful seeing them like that. No one should die the way they did." Lyra took several great, heaving breaths before she continued, and though her voice had quieted, it ripped at his heart even more. "And when we met Isolde, and she was such a harpy, and now we're going to save her child even though it's her own fault he's been possessed, and I feel so _alone_…."

Alistair said nothing, simply held her tight and let her babble. With every sentence that left her lips, the tension bled from her body, weakening her desperate hold on him. The tortured tightness drained away, leaving nothing but relaxation in its wake.

Lyra's words ceased at last, a comfortable silence settling over them. Alistair pulled her closer, murmuring something soothing. It was good to know he could offer her this, at least. Give her back a bit of the strength she'd tapped into to get through the trials life had so mercilessly thrown at her. Another moment, and he would let her go. No harm done, just a friend needing a bit of kindness...

Lyra sighed, the sound full of contentment... and then _her fingers caressed his neck._

Alistair's heart leapt, goosebumps rising at the implication of that touch. So tender, smoothing through his hairline. Intimate, the sensation filled with caring. Nails flexed over his skin, tickling more goosebumps to the surface in a heated wave. She sniffled, cuddling into him as her head laid upon his shoulder, her fingers continuing their sweet exploration. Her nose brushed his neck as she made a small, contented sound.

Alistair's pulse raced. She was so _close_. The scent of her skin teased his senses, her lithe form pressed tightly with his. He'd been so sure she wanted nothing more from him, that he'd be crossing a line if he attempted anything beyond friendship. But now, with Lyra curled up in his arms...

If this wasn't real, then Alistair didn't know what was.

.oOo.

He was so strong. So trustworthy. She'd buried her face in the crook of his neck, and oh, the salty tang of dried sweat on his skin, mixed with his own musky scent. Warmth poured from his arms, muscled and steady beneath his armor. He was a rock. Someone she could count on. He'd been there for her, night and day, since the moment she'd awoken in Flemeth's hut.

She felt _safe_ with him. Everything about the way he held her said _I will never leave you_.

Alistair hitched a breath, his fingers twitching against her neck. Sudden tension hardened his shoulders, the cords in his neck rippling beneath her questing fingers.

Lyra tensed as well, responding to the ephemeral wall that sprang between them. Only then did she realize she'd been touching his neck, and her stomach flipped in realization - her body had betrayed her. It hadn't been a casual touch, either, but pure, languid intimacy. If ever a line had existed between them, she'd just hurdled it.

An apology was on her lips when she pulled away, but the look on his face stilled her words and spread chills over her skin. Every detail of the man who held her leapt into sharp relief, his beautiful hazel eyes filled with longing. Gone was the stubble of their first meeting, his cheeks smooth and even. Red-gold hair glinted in the late morning sun, tempting her to rake her fingers through and tousle it beyond recognition. The urge overtook her to touch his full lips, trace them with the pad of her thumb, learn the contours of his jawline. But Lyra didn't dare initiate such an intimate action. For now it was all she could handle just to look at him.

Alistair's hands slid from her shoulders to her waist. Mesmerized, Lyra stepped into him, their lower bodies close as they gazed into each other's eyes. Such softness filled his look, such... _yearning_.

One by one, her walls fell away, every carefully crafted reason to keep Alistair out of her life vanishing in the wake of the warmth flooding her bones.

.oOo.

Lyra's face was blotchy with tears, her blue eyes swollen and puffy. The helmet that made her so androgynous had come loose, sitting askew on her head. She hiccupped, swallowing and sniffling as she fought to control her ragged breathing.

She was the most adorable thing Alistair had ever seen.

One hand lifted to trace the side of her face, sweeping some of the wetness away. Her eyes never left his as she leaned into his touch. Hesitation was in her gaze, and fear... but something else, as well. Need. Vulnerability... desire?

Lyra's breath quickened, her eyes widening. White teeth raked her lower lip, drawing his gaze to her mouth. So tempting. All he need do was lean in...

Confusion battled within him. She'd rejected him before, but now... Could it really be that she felt as he did? That her reaction to him hadn't really been rejection?

Swallowing, Alistair gathered his courage. "Lyra... I-"

"Kestrel! Why is he running off?" Leliana's high, lilting voice shattered the moment, and Alistair glanced back to see the Mabari racing toward them.

Releasing his hold on Lyra, he stepped away, aching from their almost-encounter. One hand rose to curve around the back of his neck, embarrassment flushing his cheeks. He'd been on the verge of lowering his mouth to hers, of confessing everything. She'd become the nucleus of his world, and brief as their moment had been, it had been staggering. Breathing deeply, he fought to compose his face, trying for normal. The last thing he wanted was for Morrigan to quirk her eyebrows... the witch simply knew too much.

.oOo.

Lyra reeled, swaying as Alistair let her go. Heart pounding, her hands rose to press against her heated cheeks, scrubbing away any last traces of sadness. What would the others think? Had they seen anything? It wasn't appropriate for her and Alistair to... to...

_To what?_

Drawing a deep breath, Lyra closed her eyes, needing to compose herself. When a heavy mass of fur and claws knocked into her, she nearly fell over. Eyes flew open again as Kestrel tackled her legs, tongue lolling and eyes shining with delight. Lyra mumbled a distracted greeting, tweaking his ears before pushing him away. Her mind was miles away from the devoted dog.

Even through the armor they both wore, heat had risen between them, and the separation of their bodies left Lyra cold. _Impossible,_ her mind protested. _You're imagining that._

She shivered.

"Leliana. Sten. Thank you for coming so quickly." Her voice felt odd, like it didn't belong to her. "Morrigan has already completed her spell. Sten, if you will go to the castle, we can be on our way. We're going to the Circle of Magi to get help for Connor. Can you stay and help Morrigan guard the boy until we return? And take Kestrel. Kestrel, stay with Sten and listen to him." As she spoke, her voice evened out, regaining some of its usual timbre.

Sten bowed his head once and strode off toward Caste Redcliffe. Kestrel whined, his shoulders slumping as he tilted his head. Lyra cocked an eyebrow at him, and the dog turned and shuffled after the qunari.

Leliana meandered toward them, a calculating look on her face. Lyra flushed as the girl's eyes slid between herself and Alistair, and she turned away to scoop up the bag of supplies once more.

"So, Alistair," Leliana's mirthful voice said. "Which way to Kinloch Hold?"

.oOo.

They traveled all day, making use of every drop of sunlight. No conversation; even Leliana didn't attempt it. Alistair cracked a few weak jokes, but Lyra pulled back into her shell, uncertain what to make of the morning's newfound intimacy. Her protections had crumbled, leaving her vulnerable. Alistair jogged at her side, never more than an arms' length away. The trip had to end eventually, and _then_ what would happen?

The only safe subject was food. An hour into their run, Alistair dove into their bag of supplies, ripping a loaf of bread in half and handing one end to Lyra. "Leliana?" he offered. The sister shook her head, seeming amused. But eventually her smile faded and she snagged the only apple in the bag, perhaps seeing how Lyra and Alistair were tearing through their rations.

The moon had risen over Lake Calenhad by the time they approached the small hamlet that served Kinloch Hold. Lyra's stomach gnawed upon itself, demanding nourishment. One would think she hadn't eaten a fist-sized chunk of ham, most of the walnuts, a full loaf of bread, the entire pouch of dried cherries and half of a cold chicken. Alistair had devoured the rest, the food fueling their run across the country. Tired though she was, her hunger was more of a concern.

"How about a quick stop at the inn? They might have something hot on the fire," Alistair suggested, his eyes hopeful.

"Yes, let's," Lyra agreed. "I'm starving."

"How can you possibly be hungry?" Leliana demanded as the Wardens made for the inn. "You ate all day! Where did you _put_ it all?"

Too hungry to respond, Lyra followed Alistar into the inn. If she didn't eat soon, she'd collapse.

"You get us a table, I'll get dinner," Alistair directed before he strode to the counter.

"Lots," Lyra called after him. He threw her a reassuring grin.

The inn wasn't busy. With such a tiny community, Lyra was a bit surprised there was an inn at all, but perhaps there was enough trade between the tower and the outside world that this waystation was necessary. She only hoped it could supply the two of them. Er, three of them.

"I don't understand it," Leliana continued as they slid into a bench at one of the many empty tables. "I wouldn't be able to walk if I ate the way you and Alistair do."

Lyra shrugged. "I never used to eat like this. Warden thing, I think." Beneath the table, her knee jiggled. Sneaking a glance back at Alistair, she was mortified to discover his gaze centered upon her, as well. Jerking her head back to the table, she shivered as her skin went hot and cold. He'd turned away just as quickly - was he watching her, as well?

Why did she hope he was?

A gentle touch on her hand reminded her of Leliana's presence. "What happened, love?"

Lyra pulled away as she shook her head, her answer tumbling out too quickly. "What? Nothing happened. What are you talking about? I'm fine. Everything's fine." Impatient fingers drummed the table. "I'm just hungry."

"You're awfully agitated." Leliana sat back, her eyes appraising Lyra's expression. "Did something happen earlier, between you and Alistair?"

Lyra forced a laugh. "What? No. Of course not. We're fine. Everything's fine. I mean, he and I made up. It's fine now."

Leliana's mouth twitched. "I wasn't aware you'd fought."

"Oh - yes. A bit. But it's nothing to worry about. It's fine." Lyra clasped her hands between her knees, trying to still herself.

"So you keep saying," Leliana commented in a dry voice. "You're certain everything is alright?"

"Look, we apologized. It was a simple misunderstanding. It's fine." Damn it, what was taking so long? Lyra snuck another glance over her shoulder. Alistair stood at the bar, engaged in conversation with the barman. It was so tempting to rest her eyes there, just watch him for awhile. The barman left the counter, and Alistair turned, slanting against the edge in a relaxed pose. Lyra whipped her head back, working her lower lip between her teeth.

"Lyra."

"Hmm?" Never had she felt so distracted.

"You know you can talk to me, right?"

"Of course."

"So... why aren't you?" Concern drew Leliana's brows together.

Lyra's mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. Was she so easy to read? "There's nothing to talk about," she insisted at last.

Leliana's face fell. "You don't think I'm good enough to talk to?"

"Oh, no, Leli-"

"You must," she cut Lyra off. "Otherwise you'd tell me about what happened with you and Alistair this morning. _Something_ happened. We came over the hill and you should have seen the two of you-"

"Oh Maker, Leliana! What did you see?" The young Warden blushed, heat flooding her cheeks.

"I knew it!" Leliana grinned in triumph. "Tell me all the details. Did he swear his undying love to you? Did you swoon in his arms? Did he kiss you til you couldn't see straight?"

Heat flooded Lyra's cheeks at the idea of Alistair _kissing_ her. "Oh, Maker help me..."

"Tell me!" Leliana closed her fingers around Lyra's arms, giving the other girl a shake. "I'm dying here!"

Alistair turned from the counter then, walking toward their table. Panic overtook Lyra. "Make something up," she whispered.

"What?"

"Some reason to get us out of here. Anything!"

"Uh-"

"Food soon," Alistair said as he sat himself on the bench beside Lyra. "I think I convinced the innkeep to bring enough for ten."

Lyra shot a desperate glance at the Chantry sister. Leliana patted her shirt, a frown crossing her face. "Huh. That's odd. I could swear... Lyra, will you come help me? I think I dropped my knife outside."

Without a word, Lyra scrambled from the bench, following Leliana out into the cooler night air.

Once through the door, Leliana grabbed her hand and hauled her toward the edge of the lake. "Spill," the sister commanded when they reached the shoreline.

Stomach churning, Lyra told her everything. The fight, the hug, the... fluttery feelings. "This can't happen," Lyra ended after a few minutes. "I need to end it. I'll go tell him now." Decided, she turned to flee.

"You can't do that!" Leliana snagged her hand, preventing Lyra's escape. "He's mad for you! Can't you see that? And you're crazy about him - if the two of you weren't Grey Wardens and this wasn't a Blight, I'd offer to plan your wedding," she laughed.

"But Leliana, don't you see? This _is_ a Blight, and we _are_ Grey Wardens. At any time one of us could die, or we could be separated for some other reason. Or there could be..." she'd been about to say 'political obligations', but caught herself in time. That wasn't her secret to share. "I can't start a relationship with him. Not now. Likely, not ever." The conclusion hurt, but it was the only safe one.

"Lyra, you _can't _end it before it's begun," Leliana insisted. "Or have you had so much love in your life that you are happy to toss it aside when it comes your way?"

"Leli, you don't understand."

"Then why-"

"Because I can't lose him!" Lyra burst out, her agitation getting the best of her. Chest tight, Lyra closed her eyes, seeking to quell the tears that threatened her thinly held composure. Maker, but she was a mess. When she spoke again, it was soft and controlled. "I... I lost my whole family. What if - what if I fall for him, and then... he's gone?" She shook her lowered head, quickly sweeping the wetness from her eyes with one covert thumb. "I couldn't stand it if that happened."

Leliana said not another word, but pulled Lyra into her arms. The girl was shorter than she was, but the action was so sisterly, it made Lyra laugh a bit. It seemed she was meant to be comforted today.

Eventually, Leliana spoke up. "Would it be worse if you did nothing, and he died?"

"Don't say that," Lyra sniffled as she pulled back from the hug. "There's been too much death already."

"Exactly, _ma chère_. We are here and now, and life must be lived. The two of you... there is something very, very special there. You cannot end it before it has even begun. He is a _good_ man, my love. You could do so much worse... and if you don't take this chance, you probably will."

A wry smile danced around the corners of Lyra's mouth. It was true - there were far more Thomas Howes in the world than there were Alistair Theirins. "I... I don't know, Leliana. I'll think about it."

"Do." Leliana hugged her once more. "Come on, then, I can hear your stomach rumbling even now. Let us feed you, and then we shall tackle the mages."

Lyra nodded. As they walked back to the inn, Leliana slipped her arm about Lyra's waist, like they'd been friends forever instead of just a few days. Natural as breathing, Lyra twined her own arm about the shorter girl's shoulders. Leliana brushed a kiss over her cheek. "It will be fine," she crooned. "I have faith in that."

Lyra nodded, wishing she felt the same.


	15. Fools Rush In

**Chapter 14  
>Fools Rush In<strong>

There was indeed a young feast laid upon the table. Alistair looked as if he were trying to be polite and wait, though he was tearing small bites from a roll and popping the pieces into his mouth. The strain faded from his eyes when Leliana and Lyra walked back into the tavern.

"Thank the Maker!" Alistair exclaimed. "Let's eat!"

A quarter of an hour later, the table was mostly clear. Leliana sat back with a smile, watching her two Wardens polish off everything in sight. Nibbling a chunk of cheddar, she looked on while Alistair sliced a loaf of dark brown bread, and then piled a mountain of cheese crumbles between two slices.

"Save some of that for me," Lyra begged, her mouth full of venison and potatoes.

"Hurry up, then." Alistair grinned as she smacked his shoulder. Hefting her tankard, Lyra drained the sweet spring water from it in four long gulps, then held her hands out for the two pieces of bread Alistair sliced for her. She began to assemble her own cheese sandwich, spreading the bread thick with fresh butter and adding slices of tomato.

Lyra groaned as she took her first bite. Leliana bit her lip and giggled. She'd heard that sound before - in the privacy of the bedchamber. Certainly _not _during dinner at a roadside inn.

Leliana was enjoying herself. She didn't normally relax like this, but the Wardens were just so _funny_. In three bites, Lyra had finished her sandwich and begun chowing through a bowl of strawberries, and Alistair was licking his fingers and using them to pick up crumbs from the table. He reached over and snatched a strawberry from Lyra's bowl, drawing a protest from her as she tried to steal it back. He chuckled, holding it out of reach of her grabbing fingers.

They were so _natural_. She could understand the girl's worry, but seeing the two of them together made Leliana's senses sing. Long ago she'd learned to listen to her instincts, and Lyra and Alistair were as perfect together as butter and honey, as wine and cheese, as peas and carrots. Smiling to herself, Leliana got up and walked to the counter, intending to ask about traveling food.

As she passed, she scanned the inn's other patrons; the long-ingrained habit prompting her automatic sweep.

Something wasn't right. That same instinct that had saved her life on so many occasions, the feeling that had urged her to leave Lothering with the Wardens - this sixth sense now tingled at the base of her spine.

It was too quiet.

Leliana's gaze roamed the inn as she meandered toward the bar, taking in the sparse decorations and studying the barflies. They sat in silence, holding tankards of ale that no one drank. A card game was in progress at one table, but the cards seemed like props. There was murmured discussion, but nothing exchanged; no betting of coins or trading of aces and spades. Still another table held the setting of a dice tournament, but it was the quietest game Leliana had ever witnessed. No shouting, no insults or groans of disappointment. At least twenty seconds passed between each clatter of the dice. Hardly an exciting event. _It's as if they'd rather be anywhere else_...

"Welcome to the Spoiled Princess, my lady," the innkeep said. The smile on his cheeks didn't even approach genuine. To someone who didn't read faces, perhaps it looked fine, but Leliana wasn't one of those someones. Her curiosity upped another notch.

"I was wondering if you might be able to supply us with rations?" she asked, putting on her best smile. "It seems we did not bring quite enough with us for the return trip." Leliana gestured toward Lyra and Alistair. They finally looked satisfied, piles of empty platters and dishes scattered across the table in front of them.

"Ah, yes. It's lucky my wife is a baker and my son just brought home an elk yesterday. We don't normally have strawberries, either, but it's been quite warm this year. I'll see about putting together some packs for you. Bread, meat, cheese, and whatever fruit I can spare? Would that be to your liking?"

Leliana considered. "I don't think they're picky. It doesn't have to last that long, either. They'll be eating it all over the next few days."

The inkeep nodded, interest sparking in his eyes. "Never seen anyone eat like that. Like they haven't fed in weeks!"

Leliana only smiled. If Alistair hadn't seen fit to tell him they were Grey Wardens, she wasn't about to reveal it herself.

The man looked disappointed at her unwillingness to gossip, but promised to have the packs ready in an hour. After thanking him, Leliana strolled back to the table, keeping her eyes and ears open. It was amazing. Conversation so soft it was almost nonexistent, with only the shuffling of cards or the tumbling of dice. It was so quiet, even the barman's rag could be heard as he wiped out glasses. Something was _definitely _wrong here, or else this was the soberest inn in all of Ferelden.

Mulling it over, Leliana slid lithely onto the bench. Lyra turned to her with a happy sigh, her face blissful as she lifted her tankard, frowning to find it empty. Alistair didn't hesitate, but hefted a water pitcher to fill her cup. The guarded look she'd been wearing all day returned to Lyra's face, but Leliana was encouraged when she stammered a thank you and gave the man a nervous smile. He smiled back, yet both of them seemed uneasy.

_Andraste's grace,_ Leliana thought with amusement. _They're hopeless. _Of course, they were both quite young, and probably had never been in love. The thought warmed Leliana's heart. She'd been that naive once. Folding her arms upon the table, Leliana gave both of them a kind smile as she leaned forward. "I'm so glad we made this decision," she confided. "I would hate to see yet another family destroyed by the Blight, not when it was in our power to save it. Isolde is a lucky woman."

"Yes... I feel the same way. Well, not about her being lucky. I could really give two bricks for Isolde's happiness," Lyra remarked. "But saving Connor... it's the right thing to do."

"What are we going to do about Eamon, though?" Alistair questioned. "He's still ill, and we_ need_ his support. I'd hoped to have his troops as well, but most of them died during the attacks."

"What about the Urn of Sacred Ashes?" Leliana suggested. As soon as the words left her mouth, the attention of the inn shifted to focus on their group. It was nothing that Lyra or Alistair would notice – gazes shifting in their direction, the barman's adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, his hands tensing upon the glass he currently polished. One gent developed a nervous tick in one eye._ Interesting... _Leliana decided to keep talking and see what happened. "Lady Isolde said she sent knights to search for the Urn. Have any of them returned?"

"No. Honestly, I'm not sure we should worry about the Urn. It's more legend than fact." Alistair mused as he traced one finger around the lip his tankard. The watchers seemed to relax.

Leliana kept a covert eye on the rest of the inn. "What was the man's name... Brother Genevieve, Brother-"

"Genitivi. I remember Teagan mentioning that he had set up shop in Denerim. Maybe we should go see him. When we go, I mean, which is what we're doing after this, right Lyra?" Alistair turned hopeful eyes on his fellow. The smile that lit her face was radiant, and the man positively glowed in response.

"That sounds like a solid plan," Leliana said with a nod. At that, their listeners seemed to lose interest in their conversation. Small sounds picked up again around the room. The atmosphere was still too strange for her comfort, though. _The Urn, obviously. That's what they were listening for... But what about it? _She played back their conversation in her mind, looking for nuances that might clue her in.

A few minutes later Alistair suggested they take their leave, and Leliana promised the innkeep that she would return to pick up the packs of food before they left town. She paid him, and they strolled out into the chill evening.

"I need to tell you something," Leliana murmured in Lyra's ear as they made their way down to the lake. Lyra cocked an eyebrow, glancing back at their fellow. "Alistair, you too. Come here." Beckoning him closer, Leliana continued in a low voice. "The men in the tavern... they seemed very interested when we talked. Specifically, when we talked about the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

"Do you think they could help us? Maybe someone here has heard rumors that might be useful," Lyra remarked.

"I... maybe. I suppose it's possible. But when I say interested, I mean they didn't seem like they wanted to have a nice long chat. The aura in the room was quite threatening. Perhaps you and Alistair would have felt it, too, if you weren't busy devouring everything in sight," Leliana teased.

Lyra grinned back. "You have no idea how good it feels to be so full!"

"It does, doesn't it?" Alistair chimed in. "And that cheese…" he kissed his fingertips. "I love cheese. Have I told you that?"

"I thought you might, when you ate three-quarters of it all by yourself. There must have been two pounds of it," Lyra joked. Alistair laughed, his eyes dancing with outright adoration.

_I can't stand it,_ Leliana thought with delight. _They're too delicious._ _If he doesn't kiss her soon, I'll stab him._

"So... that's the tower, then?" Lyra said, gesturing to a gracefully spiraling edifice, thrusting its way out of the center of the lake.

"That's the tower. Only way to get there is by boat. Let's go," Alistair said.

.oOo.

"And I'm the queen of Antiva. Get lost!" the templar sneered.

Lyra crossed her arms, raising one eyebrow as she gave the guard the once over. "Aren't queens usually a little more... female?" she drawled. Alistair snickered.

"Don't judge royalty," the templar snapped.

Leliana lost it then and burst into giggles. The templar grinned at her, apparently quite proud of his joke.

"Look, this is getting us nowhere." Lyra dropped her arms to her sides in exasperation. "There must be _some_ way that you'll take us across."

"Sorry, nope. I've got strict orders from Greagoir not to bring anyone across the lake."

Lyra seized upon the name. "You know, Greagoir won't be happy that you're making things difficult," she pointed out. "I really _am _a Grey Warden, and once your superiors find out that you refused to row us across..." She shrugged.

The templar narrowed his eyes at them, seeming unconvinced.

Leliana lazed forward, a suggestive sway in her hip. One graceful hand rose to linger on the Templar's arm. "Please..." she breathed in his ear. "We really do need to get to the tower."

Lyra stared, nonplussed, as Leliana traced small circles on the templar's neck with her index finger. The sister's lips lingered near his ear, her long lashes brushing her cheek as she gave a sad sigh. Alistair's eyebrows shot skyward.

The templar thawed under the redhead's ministrations. "Fine, get in the boat," he grumbled, and the party piled in. Delighted, Leliana kissed the templar on the cheek. He mumbled something, his dignity failing in a spectacular fashion as his face crimsoned.

"Wasn't she wearing a Chantry robe when we found her, or did I imagine that?" Alistair whispered to Lyra.

"She did say she had a 'colorful past'," Lyra whispered back. His knees brushed hers as he sat down in front of her, and a ripple went through her at the unexpected contact. Alistair seemed not to notice, focusing instead on the tower. The templar began to row, the little craft creaking with every dip of the paddles.

The tower rose to an impressive height, menacing and dark, silhouetted against the inky night sky. The only windows were slim, too much so for anything larger than a sparrow to flit through. _What a dreary place_, Lyra thought. A crumbling bridge stretched across the lake, significant chunks collapsed into the murky black water. Lyra wondered just why no attempts had been made to repair the aged stone. With so many mages, surely such a feat would have been easy to accomplish.

The boat soon scraped to shore. Thanking the templar, they clambered ashore and hurried to the oaken door. Alistair hauled it open, and the three of them marched inside.

Complete chaos welcomed them. The foyer they'd stepped into wasn't large, and with so many armored men rushing about it was _crowded_. One gray-haired templar stood in the center, shouting directions. His subordinates scurried to carry out his demands, shoving their way through the melee. Half the room had been spread with bedrolls, and a dozen men lay moaning on the blankets, tended by some of their fellows. Two had sustained terrible burns, their armor blackened and the exposed flesh raw and red. A few others lay in a stupor, unresponsive as their armor was removed piece by melted piece. Lyra's stomach turned. Whatever was going on wasn't good, not even remotely so.

"Under no circumstances are those doors to be unbarred. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir!"

Lyra sucked in a cautious breath as she took in the scene before them. Now that she thought about it, there must have been a logical reason why the templar on the beach hadn't wanted to row them across, and it likely had everything to do with the air of panic that permeated the very walls.

"Knight Commander, what about Drass and Cullen? They're still in there!"

The gray templar's mouth twisted, the movement full of bitter regret. "The last team has yet to return. It may be that they will bring back our brothers. If not..."

The templar who'd asked the question gave a slow nod, then turned to go.

It was at that moment that the commander spotted Lyra and the others. "Who in Maker's mercy are you? How did you get here? I ordered Carroll not to let anyone cross the lake!"

Lyra strode forward, hoping she wasn't about to get chucked out before she could even state her case. "I'm Lyra, and this is Alistair, of the Grey Wardens. We have treaties that demand aid from the Mages against the coming Blight. Are you Ser Greagoir?" she asked in a voice that she hoped would brook no argument.

"Grey Wardens," the man grumbled. "Why not? Everything else has gone up in flames. I tire of the Wardens and their ceaseless need for men to fight the Darkspawn," he snarled.

"Now listen here-" Lyra snapped, but she was cut off.

"Wait, you said Alistair?" The templar peered around her. Alistair gave a small, low wave, and the man shook his head, bemusement raising his brows. "I wondered if you'd survived Ostagar, lad. I heard the Wardens were all dead... it seems I heard wrong."

"I wish we could be meeting again under better circumstances, Knight Commander," Alistair said. "But we need the help of the Mages, and not just against the Darkspawn. There is a boy in Redcliffe who has been possessed, and we've come seeking the mages' aid."

Lyra glanced at her companion, surprised by how calm he sounded, how professional, how... _noble_. The man said he was afraid to lead, yet here he was, using his connection to the templars to accomplish a necessary task.

"You know there is a price on your head, don't you?" Greagoir continued, as if Alistair hadn't said a word.

"What do you mean, a price?" Lyra asked.

"Teyrn Loghain has offered a bounty for any surviving Grey Wardens. He claims your order murdered Cailan at Ostagar, that you are traitors to the throne." Greagoir said. One eyebrow rose as he crossed his arms, pinning Lyra with a flinty stare.

Lyra's mouth fell open. Traitors? To Ferelden? But... _Sweet Maker_. Mind reeling, she clawed back through her memory. Had there been anything in Berwick's papers about a bounty on Grey Wardens? Or in the papers she'd taken from the mercenaries in Lothering? If so, there was nowhere they could run. The entire country would seek their deaths for the price of a bowl of stew.

"That's - that's utterly ridiculous!" she sputtered. "The Wardens were slaughtered at Ostagar – _along_ with Cailan – because Loghain is the one who quit the field! If he hadn't pulled his troops out, we'd have _won_ that battle. What good would it do the Grey Wardens to die along with Cailan, if they had plans to overthrow him? Wouldn't that require them to still be alive? This makes no sense!" Her voice had risen as she voiced her shocked protestation, and Leliana came forward to hush her, closing gentle fingers around Lyra's hand.

Though Alistair hadn't been as vocal in his reaction, he looked no less shocked. "Why didn't Bann Teagan tell us about this?" he asked in a low voice. "Surely they had word at Redcliffe."

"Not necessarily," Leliana responded quietly. Lyra seethed, biting back more useless words. Her temper was doing them no good just now. "Think about it," Leliana continued. "Loghain tried to kill Eamon – do you think he would dispatch a messenger to him after that? And perhaps none of Teagan's messengers got through asking for aid. Thomas _did_ say no one had appeared to help them."

Lyra found her voice, pulling her hand out of Leliana's. "Ser Greagoir, regardless of what you have heard, believe me. Loghain is the traitor, not the Grey Wardens. It is imperative that we obtain help from the mages, and it must be soon."

Greagoir's face was grim. "I don't honestly believe what Loghain said about the Wardens. As you said, it makes no sense. The Wardens have always kept themselves out of political affairs. I will not detain you, but I cannot send help with you. I have written to Denerim for the Right of Annulment."

"But – you mean to cleanse the tower? You can't! We need them!" Alistair's voice teetered on the edge of anguish.

Lyra took over. "Why must you perform this Right of Annulment? What is it, exactly?"

"The Right of Annulment gives the templars the unobstructed ability to execute every mage in the tower," Alistair told her in a despairing voice. "It's only done if things have gone really, really wrong. Knight Commander Greagoir, what's happened?"

"Abominations," Greagoir said in a flat voice. "There was an uprising, and _maleficar_ have taken over the tower."

"Blood magic," Alistair breathed. Fear clenched Lyra's heart at the quiet dread in his voice. Whatever blood magic was, it sounded like nothing pleasant.

"It will take another week for word to come back from the Grand Cleric before I can begin the Right. In the meantime, I am sorry, but I cannot offer you aid."

"But we _need_ help," Lyra insisted. "A little boy will die if we don't have the help of the mages!" _Not to mention, most of Ferelden..._.

Greagoir's eyes flashed, his neck reddening as his voice exploded around them. "There is _no_ help to be had! The tower has been overrun by abominations and monsters. I have my hands full keeping them locked in. There is nothing I can do!"

"But maybe there's something _we_ can do," Lyra said, desperate. "Surely someone is still alive in there. The Mages aren't helpless! I saw some of them at Ostagar. If the tower is overrun by abominations, they all need to die anyway, right? So why not go in now and kill the monsters and save whoever is still living? Surely you don't need the Right of Annulment to help those who need it."

A sheen of nervous sweat misted Greagoir's forehead, his jaw clenching. "I don't have the manpower to spare, and I've already lost enough men. As far as I am concerned, the Circle is lost."

Maker's ass, the man was _afraid_. Lyra made a snap decision. "Then let us go in. We'll clean out the tower for you."

Alistair yelped, "Are you serious? You're not serious!"

Leliana's eyes sparkled. Unlike Alistair, the sister was actually _excited_, though she said nothing.

"Why not? We faced down an army of Darkspawn, surely we can handle a few abominations?" Lyra said lightly, but Alistair's reaction had her wondering about her brash words.

"An _army_ of Darkspawn? Are you forgetting the part where Morrigan's mother-"

"Tended our wounds after the battle? No, I haven't. We were lucky to be found by such a competent herb-woman," she interrupted him, crushing his foot as she did so. Did he _want_ to alert the templars to their apostate friends?

"I think we should do it. It will be glorious!" Leliana sparkled. She pulled her dagger from her hip and gave it a showy twirl.

Lyra gaped at the redhead. First flirting with a templar, and now bloodlust. And the way she was handling her weapon... Lyra was going to have to ask Leliana about her history, soon. Each passing hour brought some new curiosity to fuel her wonderment.

Lyra turned back to Greagoir, intending on commanding him to open the doors, when Alistair spoke again, his voice urgent. "Lyra, I need to speak with you. Now." Clasping her hand, he hauled her across the room to the far corner, where a modicum of privacy could be had.

"What?" she asked, irritated.

"Look, this is serious," he said in an urgent whisper. "Abominations are really nasty. If the templars didn't feel capable of taking them on, what makes you think _we_ can?"

"Alistair. They want to annul the Circle! We _have_ to do this!" How could he even think of running from this? Where would they be left without the mages' aid?

He shook his head. "Not necessarily."

She furrowed her brows. "What do you mean?"

"The templars. They're an army. If they were to help us against the Darkspawn, it would be almost as good as having the mages. Maybe even better, since they wear armor and fight with steel. I'm just… look. We _don't_ have to do this." Anxiety had wrapped a tight hold around each of his words.

He looked so worried, his hazel eyes filled with concern... and even fear. Lyra's natural obstinacy chose the worst time to make itself known. "What's the matter, Alistair, are you scared?" she jeered.

Eyes blazing, Alistair grasped her arms and shook her. "Damn it, Lyra, yes! I am absolutely terrified, and you should be, too!" Teeth clenched, Alistair's focus had a frightening intensity, as though if he didn't make himself heard, he'd forever regret it. Lyra's eyes widened as he spoke, his words rushing forth in a passionate babble. "Why would you even ask me a question like that? Both of us should be scared out of our minds! There's only three of us – someone we barely know, and you and me - the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden. It's a Maker-forsaken Blight, Lyra! What happens if we die? If… _you_ die…" These last words guttered, tripping over themselves. His face had gone ruddy, eyes falling to the floor. Grip loosening, he slid his hands down her arms to clasp her fingers in his own, his voice quieting as he calmed. "That would be bad. The worst thing. For you to die."

Lyra's heart thudded, apprehension speeding its cadence. This was a serious road he'd suddenly steered them down, one she wasn't certain she was ready to navigate. She laughed, attempting to lighten the mood. "Come on, I'm not going to die. Don't worry about it. Besides, we all die eventually."

"Yes, eventually. Not today," he said, his voice softer now.

Lyra began to speak again, but the words flew clean out of her head as he put one finger on her lips. Tingles raced over her at his touch... his skin was calloused and rough.

The world seemed to slow, this private corner of the universe belonging to no one else for one sacred moment. Alistair's golden stare lingered on her mouth for a moment, then rose to meet her eyes. Lyra scarcely breathed, so very aware of his caress. One corner of his mouth turned upward as he drew away at last, touching her chin before twining his fingers with hers again.

"I've only just found you," he murmured. "If I lost you, especially now…" he shook his head, distress darkening his gaze.

Amazement flooded her veins. The foyer smelled of antiseptic herbs and old blood, sweat and fear. templars rushed to and fro, shouting to their commander and to each other as they stacked supplies and clattered up and down stairwells. The Knight Commander's eyes were heavy upon her back, though a quick glance showed her that Leliana was attempting to chat him up, probably in the name of giving them privacy. Here, in this most unlikely of places, was Alistair about to declare himself?

"What are you saying?" she asked, almost afraid of the answer.

He took a shuddering breath, his eyes on his shoes. Without a doubt, everyone in the room could hear the stuttering cadence of her heart, could sense it beating its way out of her breast. She swallowed, ignoring the dampness that had slicked her palms. _Give me three assassins intent on raping me and scattering my bones, and I dispatch them in half a minute,_ she thought wryly._ Yet this man, with his handkerchiefs and his socks and his dimples… he terrifies me_.

But Leliana was right. If she didn't give this a chance, she'd forever regret it. So whatever it was Alistair was about to say... she would hear it. And if it was what she hoped... she would return it.

Drawing a breath for courage, she squeezed his hands, willing him to continue.

Entreating hazel eyes flickered upward to connect with hers. "I've... come to... care. For you. A great deal."

If Lyra thought her heart had been racing before, it was nothing to the burst of speed that now overtook it.

Alistair's voice was so soft she could barely hear it. He groaned and shook his head. "This is the wrong time, the wrong place. Actually, I really can't imagine a worse time for this," he commented in an ironic tone, indicating the bustling foyer. His thumbs stroked the back of her hands. "But I can't help it. You've gotten into my heart, and honestly... I wouldn't have it any other way."

Cold sweat had broken out under her arms. She searched for something to say. Anything. Agreement, denial. A bad joke, an observation about the weather. Nothing came. Her mouth was dry as cotton, her knees turned to wood, locked as though they would give way at any moment.

Heart in his eyes, Alistair lifted one hand to glide along her jawline. "Don't do this, Lyra," he whispered. "It would kill me to lose you."

She melted.

_Answer_, she commanded herself. _Answer him! _Her voice was in there somewhere, and after a bit more frantic searching, she found it. The words that tumbled out cracked with emotion and had less than no grace, but they were the truest she could find. "Alistair... I feel the same way about you."

His gaze warmed, filling with a kind of soft wonder. Hands squeezed, the beginnings of a joyous smile curving his parted lips.

"But... I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can't _not_ do this. We _have_ to try. Connor needs the mages... and so does Ferelden. I don't know if I could live with myself if we walk away."

A frown of apprehension dimmed the new light in Alistair's eyes. His brow creased, his mouth thinning to a hard slash as his pained eyes fell shut. "If we do this, promise me something," he said finally.

She nodded. "What?"

"Don't _die_." One side of his mouth tugged upward, but it didn't reach his anxious eyes. She slipped her arms around his waist, and he crushed her to him. Such safety radiated from his embrace. Being held by Alistair made her heart sing. It was tempting to bury her face in his neck, breathe him in, fill her senses with every bit of him.

"Never," she whispered. "We're heroes, remember? We can't die."

He chuckled. Then he laughed. She giggled as well, and he bit back a snicker. She lost it then, and within seconds they were both very nearly hysterical, having trouble breathing and wiping tears of mirth from their eyes. Lyra knew it was frayed nerves and nothing else, but it didn't matter. She felt like flying. Bring on the abominations. Fill the rooms with Darkspawn. Summon the Archdemon. Alistair wanted her... he _cared_ for her.

She wasn't alone anymore. The rest would work itself out.

"What's funny?" Leliana asked.

Lyra wondered when she'd arrived, and decided it must have been while they were doubled over laughing. "Not much," she smiled. "We're both feeling a little crazy right now." Alistair grinned in agreement, his hand reaching for hers. With a grateful smile, she squeezed his fingers, the meaning behind his touch more precious than anything.

"So are we going in there? Please say yes." Leliana twinkled with the promise of wicked fun.

"Yes, we are. Let's go tell Greagoir," Lyra said, and slipped her hand out of Alistair's.


	16. A Wynne Ing Strategy

**Chapter 14  
>A Wynne-Ing Strategy<strong>

The doors boomed behind them, sealing them inside. For better or worse, they were trapped until the tower was clear. With a deep breath, Lyra slid her daggers from her sheaths, preparing for anything. She'd never seen an abomination, but with a name like that they could be nothing good.

Alistair glanced back, his hazel eyes shining as he gave her a private smile. A flush colored her cheeks as she returned his grin, her heart fluttering. _I've come to care for you a great deal_, he'd said. The words looped in her mind, replaying themselves over and over. Her skin tingled with his remembered touch; her cheek, her hands, her back where his arms had encircled her. Even the tops of her arms, when he'd grabbed her in that moment of passionate anger.

How easy it would be to lose herself to it. But... _Not now, Lyra. Focus._

Greagoir had told them in no uncertain terms what they would need to accomplish. "I will only open the door if I see First Enchanter Irving on the other side. Otherwise, I will not believe the Circle can be saved."

Alistair hadn't liked that. Not one bit. "He could be dead already," Alistair had whispered. "Then what do we do?"

"Hold up Irving's corpse and make it wave?" Lyra had whispered back, and the shocked and disgusted look on his face had nearly made her burst out laughing again. Apparently, she'd been a bit giddy. "I'm kidding, of course. Sorry, that was inappropriate."

"You're sick, Cousland," he'd whispered back, and poked her in the ribs.

But in all honesty, what choice did they have? It was this, or let Connor die. Not an option at all. But even if Connor's life hadn't hung in the balance, the mages needed help, and that made it worth doing. The idea of just walking away and allowing so many innocents to die wasn't something Lyra could stomach. It was hard enough to sleep at night without adding that to her conscience.

Against such staggering odds, Lyra was surprised by the kernel of optimism rooted in her heart. But with her belly full and Alistair's whispered words echoing in her mind, she felt like flying.

Though the macabre setting did dampen her mood a bit.

Eerie silence blanketed the halls of Kinloch Hold. The only sounds were their booted feet as the three of them crept through the first floor. Evidence of the recent catastrophe was everywhere... blood smeared on the stones, furniture knocked over, books scattered and torn.

But worst of all were the bodies.

The lucky ones that still looked... _human_... lay in grim contortions, their bones snapped and bent into unlikely positions. The faces were terror struck, eyes wide and staring, mouths forever frozen in soundless screams. Sometimes there would be a... _something_. A twisted, malformed shape, robes ripped and shredded to accommodate a suddenly swollen frame. Or just a single limb, left torn and bloody.

There was enough carnage that Lyra wondered if there _were_ any mages left to save. The odors of death and decay alone were enough to weaken a man's stomach, but combined with the horrific sights... Lyra shuddered. Had she not been buoyed by Alistair's presence, she might have spiraled into outright panic. It was too much like Highever for comfort. But the calm strength in Alistair's stance soothed her anxieties. For the first time since the waking nightmare of her family's deaths, she didn't feel alone.

But even Alistair's smile did little to quell the feeling that perhaps she'd gotten them in over their heads. There was simply no sign of life. Had she forced them to take on an impossible task?

Alistair had insisted on leading, and Lyra was glad to be following for once. She supposed he felt that he could better defend her that way. _Makes sense_, she thought. To her surprise, she found she wasn't resentful. In the past, she'd have been offended by the implication that she couldn't take care of herself. But being protected was... actually rather nice. For the first time in her life, she was grateful to be a girl.

"There. Look." Alistair gestured with his shield. The three of them stopped, and Alistair held up a hand for silence. From the end of the hall came flickering lights, a doorway that brightened and darkened by turns. Small sounds could be heard within - voices?

He beckoned them forward, and they hurried toward the room with as much stealth as possible. Alistair's splintmail _clashed_ with every step he took, the sound grating on Lyra's nerves. Did he really think he was being quiet? Even considering his armor, he made far more noise than Lyra thought was necessary.

Alistair peered cautiously through the door, then jumped back with a shout of surprise as a bolt of magic exploded over the threshold.

Silence, and then a female voice called out. "Who is there? Are you sent by the Templars? Show yourself now, or I will end you!"

"We've come to help," Lyra called back. "Ser Greagoir let us in, but we came on our own. No one sent us."

A pause. "Enter the room, please," the voice called, and Alistair led them slowly inside. They kept their weapons out and ready, but lowered in what Lyra hoped was a non-threatening manner.

Inside was a modest gathering of people – women and men, children and teenagers. All of them wore robes, and every adult held a staff at the ready. The Mages!

On the opposite side of the room was another doorway, but stretched across the opening was what seemed to be a fine, shimmering web. It glistened with amorphous colors, shifting and swirling with life. Lyra was briefly captivated by the beauty of such a thing. _A __magical __barrier of some sort?_

"Who are you?" the woman who owned the voice said. She was …_old_, Lyra thought. However, her gray-blue eyes were bright and sharp, her posture straight, and she held her staff with a competence that bode ill for anyone who dared to cross her. The woman's face was lined with quiet wisdom, though Lyra could tell she'd once been a beauty. Her white hair was pulled back into a serviceable ponytail, and the robes she wore were a soft red, trimmed with gold.

Lyra gestured to her companions. "I am Lyra, and this is Alistair and Leliana. We're Grey Wardens. We've come to make the tower safe again."

"Oh, is that so?" the woman asked, her tone laced with skepticism. "Yet you bring no Templars with you, and I see only three before me. Are you such fearsome warriors, that you can 'make the tower safe' when we could not? What makes you think you can accomplish this task?"

"I…." Lyra wasn't sure what to say. Perhaps she really had been foolish to attempt this, but... "I have to try. The Templars have sent for the Right of Annulment, and I don't want to see that happen to the mages."

Despair darkened the woman's face. "Then Greagoir must truly believe all is lost." She began to meander back and forth, rather as if she was giving an oration to a group of students. "For days I have kept that barrier in place, and it has shielded us. We have survived when the Templars abandoned us; protected ourselves even from our own associates. And now..." She gave a decisive shake of her head, eyes flaring. "I will not believe that all is lost. Not after the struggles we have overcome to stay alive."

"But what can be done?" one of the apprentices whispered.

The woman assessed Lyra with her penetrating eyes, her head tilting to one side. "You have spirit," she said at last. "Not many would take this on so willingly. It may be the very thing that will save us..." She inspected Lyra once more, then nodded in satisfaction. "Very well then. Let us go and 'make the tower safe'. I will go with you. If we kill everything in our path, the children and apprentices should be in no danger."

"Wynne, are you certain that's a good idea?" The young mage who had spoken before raised her voice. She was pretty, with auburn hair and blue robes. "Maybe I should come with you. You were so sick before..."

"Do not worry for me, Petra. I have recovered with no ill effects," the woman - Wynne - reassured her. "I will need you and the others to remain here and care for the children. The Wardens will need help if they are to accomplish this."

"Any help you could offer would be appreciated," Lyra said. "I've never fought abominations before, although we've encountered both Darkspawn and bandits on the road."

"Then you are in for many surprises... none of them good, I am afraid. You saw the bodies as you came in, I assume?"

Lyra nodded, swallowing. Apart from the murders of Oriana and Oren, she'd never seen such brutality and death.

"You said your name was... Lyra, yes? I am called Wynne." The mage bowed her head, one hand rising to touch her chest. "I am a senior Enchanter and teacher of the Ferelden Circle, with specialties in spirit healing and earth work. This is my apprentice Petra, and the others are apprentices and students of the Circle."

Lyra nodded again, smiling as she looked around at the gathered mages. Instant admiration bubbled for Wynne and her take-charge attitude... there wasn't a doubt in her mind who the leader of this group was. They might not have looked alike, but Wynne brought Lyra's mother Eleanor to mind. Lyra doubted the mage had much trouble keeping order among her students; there was obviously steel in her spine.

"Are you ready?" Wynne asked.

Lyra looked back at Alistair and Leliana, who nodded. "We are."

"Then I shall remove the barrier," Wynne said, her voice low and determined.

Petra called, "Wynne!" and rushed forward to press a few small bottles into her mentor's hands. "Lyrium. You're always telling me to look ahead and prepare wisely. Please be careful." The girl hugged Wynne tightly.

A fond smile graced the elder mage's face. "I'm not through on this plane yet, dear girl. I have it on very good authority." Wynne stroked the girl's hair. After a moment, Petra backed up, and Wynne faced the barrier once more.

Alistair stepped forward, positioning himself ahead of Lyra in a warrior's stance. Lyra readied her daggers. Leliana lowered herself to a cat-like crouch, ready to pounce on any threat.

Wynne stretched one hand toward the barrier, closing her eyes and gripping her staff. After a moment, the shimmering web began to dissolve, and swirls of light coiled into Wynne's outstretched fingers. As the energy flowed in, the mage glowed, the magic suffusing her with artificial life. In seconds it was finished, the way opened.

Rather than weary, the old woman now seemed invigorated. "I am frankly a bit surprised that I kept it in place so long," she murmured.

"You did what you had to do, Wynne," Lyra said.

Wynne chuckled, seeming entertained at that. "Indeed. What other choice did I have?"

There was a tense moment as all of them listened, the room quiet enough to hear a pin drop. Nothing sounded, so Alistair led the party forward. Lyra wondered if they ought to ask their new companion which way to go, but it seemed there was only one direction available. They climbed a stair, and entered the second floor of the tower.

Kinloch Hold was constructed in a spiraling pattern, with a circular hallway leading counter-clockwise to a stairway ascending to the next level. The rooms concentrated mostly on the right hand side, with a large room in the center of each floor - used for gatherings and magical practice, Lyra assumed. They peered into sleeping chambers, seeing more of what they'd found on the first floor, a few unfortunate souls amidst a shamble of broken furniture and shredded fabric. Goose down was scattered all throughout one room, making finding anything in the mess absolutely impossible. There was, however, no sign of life.

"This makes me nervous. Where are the abominations?" Alistair wondered.

"Maybe they're all having a party on one of the upper floors?" Leliana suggested.

"Ha. I guess that makes us the uninvited guests," he said with a wry grin.

"We should have brought a bottle of wine," Lyra interjected. "You know, as a gift for our hosts."

Wynne ignored their banter. She seemed engrossed as she peered into yet another room.

"How did this happen, Wynne?" Lyra asked. "I thought in order for a mage to become an abomination, they had to accept a deal with a demon. Don't the mages train against that happening?" Jowan had told them some of this already, but Lyra wanted it straight. Not everything made sense yet.

Wynne sighed. "Yes, they do. And yes, that's one way it can happen. But I'm afraid this time, it was a bit more complicated than that. You see, one of the senior Enchanters, Uldred, began an uprising. It happens from time to time; mages feeling dissatisfied with their lot, or afraid of their Templar guards. I'd heard there were rumors of something in the works, and First Enchanter Irving and I were speaking about how best to stop it before it got out of hand. But then the call came from Ostagar, and I went with the battle mages to fight."

"You were at Ostagar?" Alistair perked up, interested.

"Then you know what happened with Loghain's contingent," Lyra finished for him, her nails digging into her palms. "You know what that... _traitor_... did to King Cailan, to the Wardens." Impotent rage churned her stomach. Loghain would pay.

"Yes, I was there. I wasn't as close to the battle as the Grey Wardens were, but it was obvious to us all what had happened when the beacon was lit and no one came to defend us. I was gravely injured, and spent a few days recovering here at the Circle. I had only just returned to my duties when this trouble began." Wynne led them to another room, and they continued searching for anything alive. As before, all was quiet. "I do not know precisely what Uldred has done, but I am sure he is the ringleader of whatever happened here. We will likely find him at the top of the tower. The Harrowing chamber is there, and there is much concentrated power in that room. He will be harnessing that magic for whatever he plans next." Wynne's voice had a hard edge to it.

"Then we have no time to waste," Lyra said impatiently. With Alistair in the lead, the small group hurried through the door leading to the third floor.

Lyra peered past Alistair, who'd stopped at the top of the stairs to assess the new area. One burly arm rose, preventing her from stepping forward, and Lyra scowled. It was all well and good for the man to be concerned, but for Andraste's sake, she wasn't completely helpless.

After a moment, Alistair stepped forward and beckoned them to follow. They'd barely cleared the door when everything exploded in chaos.

A roar lifted the hair straight from her neck, and reacting on instinct, she dashed forward to sink her daggers into a mass of screaming flesh. Alistair was right beside her, thrusting his longsword into the center of the creature, but very little happened except a disgusting _squelch_. The walking horror swiped at them with wickedly sharp claws, and Lyra arched backward to avoid being caught by its talons.

"Retreat, Wardens!" Wynne's voice commanded, and they scrambled away as a ball of flame rushed past them. The creature was set alight, and it let loose a long screech of agony as it melted to the floor.

"What... was _that?" _Alistair gasped as the thing shivered and moaned, dissolving into a shrinking puddle of smarmy red liquid. A moment later it had disappeared completely, evaporating in a puff of putrid mist.

"A hunger demon. The only way to kill them is with flame," Wynne said, her voice calm and pedagogical.

Lyra shuddered, her daggers covered with nasty-smelling ooze. She had a disturbing thought. "Are any of the demons killable with blades?"

"Don't worry, there will be plenty of fighting for you to do." Wynne reassured her, sounding amused. "Hunger demons consume everything they can in an attempt to abate their relentless appetite. As they eat, they grow, surrounding themselves with a gelatinous substance. Swords are no use against such a creature."

"Like attacking a barrel of jelly," Alistair commented.

Wynne nodded. "The others... you should have no trouble with."

"How many kinds of demons are there?" Lyra asked curiously. "I wasn't aware there were types."

"Hunger, Rage, Sloth, Desire and Pride... five basic types. There are also Revenants, which are an incarnation of a pride demon, and ash wraiths, which are similar to hunger demons, but quite different in shape."

"What about walking corpses?" Alistair asked.

"A walking corpse? ...well, a demon can inhabit any body, and the weaker spirits normally do just that instead of forming their own shapes. They are very weak outside of the Fade. I can't be certain, since this is only a theoretical discussion, but Rage seems the most likely culprit."

Lyra filed that bit of trivia away for later. Bann Teagan might be interested to hear it, at the very least.

The layout of the third floor proved similar to the first and second, though the accommodations seemed better, and the titles of the books looked to be geared toward older students. _Do they move up every year?_ Lyra wondered. What a shiftless sort of place. It would be impossible to ever feel at home.

Less than ten steps from the door, a man-shaped _thing_ darted out from a room, snarling as it rushed toward them. Two more followed close behind, and Lyra's stomach knotted in fear as she grappled for her daggers. If this was an abomination, Lyra hoped they wouldn't see many more.

Reddened ropes of exposed muscle covered skeletal bodies, their shoulders wider than a normal man's, their arms long and gangly. Their heads were bald, with one droopy, enraged eye peering out from beneath strands of stringy sinew. Exposed bone ending in evil claws composed their hands, and they were clothed in blood-stained tatters that might have passed for robes in another lifetime. Fabric and skin had fused until the garment was truly a part of the creature, so embedded were the two.

They were beyond horrid.

With a mighty yell, Alistair charged at the nearest monster, his shield thrust before him. The abomination hissed, then howled as Alistair's shield swung out. Lyra slid behind the frontrunner, intending on facing off the two remaining abominations. Leliana was right behind her, daggers flashing in the torchlight as she cut a swath of destruction. Lyra slashed out as well, her teeth clenched as she searched for openings. Where were they vulnerable? Did they even _have_ vital organs? Giving up on strategy, she began thrusting at random. Hurt was hurt, and with enough stab wounds the thing was certain to go down - or at least, this was what she hoped.

Mage bolts flew, and Alistair's sword blurred with motion. The Warden gave a primal yell as his blade arced through the air, slicing the abomination's head from its shoulders in a spray of crimson. Seconds later he was at Lyra's side, bull-rushing one abomination with a savage yell. It crumpled under his attack, landing on the ground with a sickening wheeze. Another heart-stopping yell, and Alistair's sword crashed down violently to chop the monster clean in half.

A sharp pain in Lyra's side made her gasp, and she staggered backward, watching as Leliana danced out of Alistair's path. Unbridled rage darkened his face as he spun, cleaving into the ribs of the final abomination. The monster yowled as it reached for him, but Alistair yanked his blade free and drove it straight through the bone-riddled chest - just as its head exploded in a shower of gore.

Panting, Lyra shut her eyes and raised on arm to shield herself from the blood and tissue raining down. One large chunk smacked her cheek, drawing a shriek of disgust from her lips. Sweet Maker, the _stink_... her stomach burbled, threatening to empty itself from the smell alone.

All was quiet a few seconds later, but for the harried breaths of herself and her companions. Alistair's sword rang as he slid it into its sheath, his hobnailed boots loud against the stone as he hurried to her. "Are you alright?" he asked in a worried voice, his hands cupping her face. Thumbs brushed bits of yuck from her skin as his anxious eyes searched her for injuries.

"I'm fine," she grimaced. "I'm not made of glass, you know." Easing away from him, she swallowed, breathing deeply to ease the pain in her side. It was the same injury she'd sustained during the battle at Redcliffe - with luck it was only inflamed, and hadn't opened up again.

"Lyra," Leliana's voice rose on the second syllable, her tone full of wariness. "What?"

"Nothing," she insisted, resisting the urge to press her hand to her ribs. She could use one of the poultices in her pack - later. There wasn't time right now to stop and bandage herself up. She'd done her best on her own the night before, but apparently it hadn't been enough.

The mage bustled forward, a stern look in her eyes. "Being a martyr will do us no good, young lady," she scolded. "Stand still."

"But-"

"Lyra," Alistair's voice pleaded. "Do as she says."

Wynne ignored Lyra's protests, and there was no hesitation as she stretched out her hands. A golden glow enveloping them as they ghosted over Lyra's body, which startled her. The mage, however, continued the examination as if she were accustomed to that particular reaction. "Stab wound," she said in a brisk voice. "A day old - child, why didn't you say something?"

"You've been fighting and _running_ with a knife wound?!" Alistair's voice lifted a panicked octave. "Lyra!"

"What?" she returned, annoyed by his coddling. "I used one of the poultices we found, bandaged it up - the war doesn't stop because I'm injured, Alistair."

Alistair turned to Wynne, ignoring Lyra's attempts to make him see reason. "Can you heal her?" he begged, his eyes intense.

"In a heartbeat," the mage promised. "Hold still, my dear."

Lyra had no more chance to protest. A warm hand laid itself against her wound, caressing from the inside out. The ache that had plagued her since the undead battle eased at last, and a knot of tension unwound itself from Lyra's body. She'd hardly realized how much it had affected her. The healing magic was such comfort, such a beautiful feeling of purity and wholeness... she was sorry when it faded.

"Thank you," Alistair said in a fervent voice, then gathered Lyra into his arms. A relieved sigh left his chest as he held her close.

"Alistair," she murmured, highly self-conscious. Much as she longed for his arms, now wasn't the time. "Come on... You're covered in ick, you know."

"Sorry." With a rueful grin, he squeezed her once more before releasing her. "So are you."

Lyra glanced at Wynne, who had stepped away to study something on the floor. From the look on her face, it was nothing that actually needed her perusal; she was simply giving them a bit of space. Leliana began cleaning her daggers, her eyes completely focused on the task. Even so, Lyra felt the weight of their curiosity, particularly Wynne's.

"Here," Lyra said. "Your handkerchief." With a rueful smile, she pulled it from her pouch. "Darn it, it's all clean, too. I keep forgetting to return it to you."

"Just keep it," he offered as she mopped her face. "To remind you of me."

"I hardly need your handkerchief to remember you," she joked. With gentle fingers, she cleaned his face of the disgusting fluids. A tender smile touched his lips, his eyes falling closed. Clearly he was enjoying her touch. "I'm covered in liquified abomination," she continued. "I don't know how you did it, but after obliterating that demon, you're thoroughly branded into my mind, trust me."

"I didn't do that," Alistair said. "I don't know _why_ that happened."

"I did it, young man," Wynne said as she tucked her staff onto her back. "It's a tiring spell, however, so I can't do it all the time."

"We'll keep that in mind," Lyra said, cleaning her neck with the now sodden handkerchief. Gobbets of flesh dribbled to the floor when she shook it out. _Blech._ She'd washed the blessed thing _twice _already. If the results from defeating just three abominations was any indicator of how often she'd need to clean up over the next few hours, Maker knew she'd need more than a handkerchief.

.oOo.

They settled into a routine after that. Climb the stairs, look in the rooms, kill whatever was inside. The abominations became almost boring, though a group of _maleficar_ caught them by surprise. The blood mages fought like... well, demons, though they, themselves weren't possessed. Alistair, in contrast, did feel rather possessed. He attacked like a fiend, bowling over everything that threatened his - and Lyra's - safety. The anxiety he'd felt after discovering her injury had left him on pins and needles. Without a doubt, this was the most dangerous thing they'd done so far, and he'd be damned if he allowed any harm to come to Lyra. Not now. Not _ever_.

To think - she really cared for him, as he did for her. It was incredible. His heart hadn't stopped singing since she'd lifted her chin and met his gaze, her sweet, low voice murmuring those wonderful words. _I feel the same way about you._ She was so beautiful, so incredibly sweet, so-

"Heads up!" she cried, dashing forward to plunge her daggers into an abomination. "This one's mine!"

"Not a chance!" he retorted, leaping to bury his blade in its gut.

A grin teased his mouth as he watched Lyra fight at his side. A sneer curled her lip, beads of sweat gathering at her hairline as she whirled and spun, her blades flashing. A gutteral growl spilled from her throat, pure fury driving her. Blue eyes glittered with murder, her fearless conviction evident in each expert move.

It was magic to watch.

Leliana was no slouch, either. The sister had proven herself quite athletic, tumbling about with the grace of a trained dancer. The way she flipped, tumbled and kicked left Alistair staring a few times at her astounding acrobatics. Just how a Chantry sister had learned to move that way was beyond him. Even as quick as Lyra was, her fighting style was totally different from the redhead's.

Wynne had proven herself most useful, too. Not only had she healed Lyra - which Alistair had been most grateful for, because after all, not all mages were healers - but as they climbed the tower, Wynne used her magic to bolster the entire group's endurance. At the end of every battle, a wave of healing energy wafted through them, courtesy of the mage's shining staff. Though they'd been in the tower for hours, Alistair felt as fresh and energetic as when they'd first arrived, though he was considerably hungrier.

"What time do you suppose it is?" he asked of no one in particular.

"It's a quarter past two in the morning," Leliana said, her focus on her daggers as she cleaned them yet again. She seemed quite fastidious about her weapons.

Lyra slid him a surprised glance.

"So precise? I was thinking midnight-ish. How can you be sure?" Alistair asked.

"I... have a very good feel for time," Leliana said casually, but the nervous dart of her eyes made Alistair wonder.

"Right. And I'm the Queen of Antiva," he said wryly.

"That one's taken, remember?" Lyra jibed.

"Oh, right! Well, I'm a... a..."

"Revered Mother?" Lyra suggested, her lip quirking.

Alistair smirked. "I was going to say Dragon in heat, but that works almost as well."

"The two of you. You're like children," Wynne scolded, but her voice was warm. Lyra smiled shyly at the older woman, and was rewarded with a fond smile in return.

"Well, you _are_ old enough to be my grandmother," Alistair pointed out.

"Alistair!" Lyra sounded shocked.

Wynne chuckled. "Yes, so respect your elders, young man, or I'll read you a lesson in manners."

"You don't scare me," Alistair said in a breezy voice. "I think you're nothing but a sweet old lady who just happens to be carrying a four foot length of steel that could blow my head off."

"Don't make me prove it," Wynne said, but the laughter hadn't left her voice.

They rounded the corner of a new room, and a wave of drowsiness washed over Alistair. One hand rose to touch his temple... The room swayed, his vision narrowing as his mind fogged. What was happening?

"Ahhh, visitors," said a deep languid voice. Like smoke in a beehive, the sound wrapped around his bones, inviting him to lie back, let the world spin without him for awhile...

But - no. He couldn't - Alistair struggled to focus as a corporeal form wafted toward them. The evil feel coming off the creature was enough to stagger just about anyone, but with his Templar senses, Alistair was almost driven to his knees. If he could only... raise... the power...

"Can't... keep my eyes open..." Lyra yawned, her daggers slipping from her hands to land on the floor. A moment of panic overtook Alistair at this, but then his own stupor crept up on silken paws, slinking around him like cold mist.

"Resist... you must... resist! If you do not, we are... lost..." Wynne's voice faded.

"Why fight?" the voice drawled. "Let me help you... relax..."

Alistair struggled once more, but then the floor rose up to meet him.

* * *

><p><em>many thanks to Wintryone for her continued help with all the shinies! :-D<em>


	17. The Strength of a Dream

**Chapter 15  
>The Strength of a Dream<strong>

Lyra stood in the courtyard of Highever, the warm sun kissing her cheeks as a soft breeze lifted wayward strands of her hair. In the distance, Kestrel barked, the sound full of exuberance. Her dog was playing... She would go and find him. As she moved through the knee-high grass, her green dress swished about her knees, the floral embroidery catching her eye. It was a favorite of hers, one she'd always loved. So much better than the plain blue.

"Pup!" her father's voice called.

"Father?" Was it him? It was! Her rejoicing feet carried her toward him. "Oh! I missed you!" she cried, and laughed to see her mother running toward them as well.

"Pup," he said again, his voice breaking as his face broke into a delighted smile.

She'd seen him only hours ago, this she was sure of, and yet there was nothing better than being folded into his tight hug. Tears sprang in her eyes as she laughed, wondering why she was getting so worked up. "I... Father, I feel like..."

A gentle smile creased his face as he pulled back to look at her. "What's wrong, dear one?"

"Lyra," her mother said, catching up to them. She was pulled in by more arms, encircled with love and caring. This was a safe place, her home, the only place where she belonged. Never would she leave it, not ever. No matter what.

Sniffling, Lyra wiped her eyes, a bit embarrassed at the scene she was making. "Sorry. I just... I..."

"What is it?" Mother's voice was filled with concern, the lines in her forehead deepening as she smoothed a lock of hair from her daughter's face.

Lyra shook her head. She felt rather foggy. "I must have dreamed. You and Father were gone, and Oriana and Oren - they..." She struggled to remember. The wispy images teased her, always just out of reach as they played hide-and-seek within her mind.

"Auntie Lyra!" a childish voice shouted, and she let go of her mother to scoop Oren into her arms. He smelled of little boy; dirt and clean sweat, just the way he should. Perhaps they would play together in the woods this afternoon.

Behind him came his mother, a basket filled with wildflowers tucked under her arm. "Sister, how glad I am to see you." Oriana reached for her hand, and her sweet smile warmed Lyra's heart. "Oren, don't tousle her. Your auntie is expecting guests this evening!"

"I am?" Lyra asked, and reluctantly untangled Oren's legs from around her waist before setting him down.

"Yes. The Bann of Obston, remember? He is bringing his son to meet you. If all goes well, there shall be a wedding in a few months," Oriana said slyly.

Eleanor chuckled. "Yes, Lyra, it is time you settled down to a family life, don't you think?"

She opened her mouth to agree, then frowned. This felt... off, somehow. But then the feeling flitted away, leaving her mind empty of arguments. What noble girl wouldn't want a good marriage?

She found herself wondering if the bann's son would be handsome.

.oOo.

Alistair pushed open the door of the small cottage and was greeted by an amazing sight. Four small boys and a little girl tackled him to the ground, shouting, "Uncle Alistair! You're home!"

Laughter bubbled from his throat as the children wrestled and tickled him. Growling playfully, he gathered them into his arms in a massive bear hug, squeezing a squeal of glee from the whole writhing bunch.

"Brother. You've returned!" a woman's happy voice exclaimed.

"Goldanna! Sister, I missed you!" Alistair gently released the children to embrace his sister. Her face was... fuzzy, shifting and changing from moment to moment. Was that... normal? No, surely he was imagining things. He dismissed the thought with a shake of his head, blaming the poor lighting.

"You're just in time for dinner. I've made mince pie," Goldanna said, tugging him toward the kitchen. "Afterward, will you help me put the children to bed? There are so many, and they love you so much."

Alistair's heart overflowed. "Of course. It's always been my favorite thing to do."

.oOo.

Leliana prayed. The peace of the Chantry enfolded her like a warm blanket, and her soul soared. Truly, she had come home. Her ornate robes pooled around her as she knelt, swaying with the passion induced by her commune with the Maker. Here was her life, here was where she belonged... at home, at peace, in the perfect love and light of the Chantry.

The Revered Mother placed her hands on Leliana's head, and began a benediction.

.oOo.

Wynne cradled Petra's lifeless body in her arms. _Why? _Why hadn't she gotten here sooner, or acted more quickly? She could hardly remember the journey, and yet she was certain that she'd lagged, that she could have prevented this. The vital duty that she'd taken up... failed. Her life's work, scattered like so many ashes.

The corpses of her students lay around her in piles of mangled flesh. Blackened earth surrounded them, proof of the terrible destruction that had been wrought during her neglectful absence. They'd _trusted_ her, counted on her... how could she have left them to die?

Tears flowed down her lined cheeks, an unceasing stream that did nothing to soothe the ache wreathing her heart. She'd been sworn to protect them. There was nothing left to do now but bury their bones and await death's cleansing touch.

.oOo.

Lyra smiled welcome at the bann's son. He was tall and dark, with rakish features.

"A rose for you, my lady," he said, bowing as he handed her a scarlet blossom. Taking it with a coy nod, she lifted it to her nose, her eyes closing as she breathed the sweet scent.

_A flicker of memory flashed through her mind… nighttime, a different man. Ruddy and tanned, he was dressed in simple homespun, his sword-roughened fingers passing her a rose in the dim light of an outdoor fire. Hazel eyes smiled shyly at her. "It can't be your birthday without a gift..."_

The memory burst apart, and Lyra's heart pounded in alarm. Something wasn't right. She stared at the bann's son, confused. "Wh-what…" she stammered.

His black eyes filled with caring. Drawing her in, he wrapped a protective arm around her. "Do not worry, my sweet. Nothing will threaten you, not while I am here."

"I'm not made of glass, you don't have to…" she began, but then another memory took her.

_"I'm not made of glass, you know," she heard her own voice echoing. The man with the hazel eyes was studying her face, his gaze full of concern. His gentle thumbs stroked her cheeks, and she was covered in blood. _

Blinking, she opened her eyes to Highever once more. "Something..." she murmured, scared now. "It's like a dream."

"A dream, Lyra?"

_"Was it a nightmare?" the man asked. __Nearby, __a campfire settled __with a popping hiss__. "It happens when you're new. To the Grey Wardens, I mean. It's supposed to be worse for those who join during a Blight."_

"The Blight..." she breathed, goosebumps rising on her skin. "Alistair!"

The bann's son snarled, his face contorting as rage sparked in his eyes. He threw his head back and released an ugly howl, his features shifting in a fearful explosion of limbs and cloth. Lyra dropped the rose he'd handed her, hardly noticing when it puffed into a swirl of vapor. Highever dissolved into mist, leaving her alone on a barren plain. The memories came slamming back, and a sob raised a lump in her throat as she realized - none of it had been real. Her family, her home. Mother, Father, Oren and Oriana... all of them were dead. And yet, she'd been able to touch them, to _smell_ them... Grief tightened her chest anew, the realization of all she'd lost crashing over her in a tidal wave, painful as the first time.

A mass of twisted muscle towered before her, chest heaving, corroded as sin and twice as ugly. Fear blossomed in her chest, nourished by the idea that she could never win, that she was so very alone.

Lyra sagged. Tears welled in her eyes as she trembled, waiting for death. What was the point in fighting, when none cared if she lived or died?

_Alistair's hands held hers, his touch so gentle. "I've come to care for you, a great deal," he whispered. _

One hand dragged across her smarting eyes. Gritting her teeth with newfound resolution, Lyra reached shaking hands over her shoulders to find her daggers. The illusion of the awful green dress was dispelled, her well-worn leathers hugging her body once again.

_"This is the wrong time, the wrong place. Actually, I really can't imagine a worse time for this," he commented in an ironic tone._

The abomination swiped at her, and she danced backward out of its reach. Skeletal claws clamored for her fleeing figure, and she dropped and rolled, coming up behind the monster.

_"But I can't help it. You've gotten into my heart, and honestly... I wouldn't have it any other way."_

Ironclad determination welled up. He'd promised to protect her, to care for her. Could she do no less?

Darting forward, she plunged her daggers into the thing's ribs, and if it were human she knew she would have punctured its lungs. The abomination howled with anger, and she yanked her daggers free, skidding away as it spun to catch her.

_"It would kill me to lose you."_

Alistair was here somewhere in this nightmarish realm, and she'd be damned if she left him alone a minute longer than she had to.

Dashing forward, Lyra swiped her blades at the horrific face, stumbling when it dodged. With a gesture so quick Lyra could hardly believe it, the abomination snatched her by the wrists and reeled her in. She squirmed, frantic, then jumped and dug her feet into its chest to flip herself backward. Taken by surprise, the bony fingers let go, and Lyra rushed forward to slam both daggers directly into the center of its chest.

.oOo.

Leliana chanted and prayed, her voice lifting with all the others. Joy brimmed, til she was certain she must have glowed with love and light. Around her were others who felt as she did, others who had dedicated themselves to the Maker's work. This was her true place, surrounded by her sisters as their holy song entreated the Maker for his mercy.

"Blessed are they who stand before the corrupt and the wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just," the Revered Mother intoned.

Leliana began to chant the response. Without warning, a vision seared through her brain, bringing a gasp to her lips.

_"We all owe our lives to the Grey Wardens and their companions!"_

_She was ringed by people, the sunlight shining down as a cool breeze played with her hair. If she turned her head to the left, she could see a glittering lake. To her right was a mountain, its sunset-colored cliffs rising a mile or more into the sky..._

_"I ask that you lift your voices for Lyra Cousland and her company, the Champions of Redcliffe!"_

_The woman who was __being__ pushed to the platform threw Leliana a self-conscious smile, and Leliana felt her own mouth lifting in return. Pride swelled in her chest. They'd saved the town from..._

The vision shattered. Leliana released a shaken breath.

The Revered Mother frowned at her. "Sister Leliana, are you well?"

"Yes, thank you. I am sorry, Mother..." she murmured. What visions had come to trick her? It had felt so real...

The other sisters were beginning the Canticle of Trials. Leliana opened her mouth to join them, but the words escaped her... she needed focus. Clasping her hands beneath her chin, she shut her eyes, her lips moving as she spoke the holy words to herself. "O Maker, hear my cry: Guide me through the blackest nights. Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked. Make me to rest in the warmest places. O Creator, see me kneel: For I walk only where You would bid me..."

_"...the Maker sent me, you see. You'll need my help." It was her own voice she heard, her initiate's robes flowing around her as she perched on a tavern bench beside a young woman with shining dark hair. _

_The woman frowned at her cup. "And... what do you think you could help with?"_

_"I can fight. You'll need help with that, wouldn't you agree?"_

Gooseflesh rippled over her skin. "Maker's breath," she breathed.

Mother Victoria ceased her own chanting to shoot Leliana a stern look. "Sister?"

Leliana raised a distressed hand to her forehead. "I - I am sorry."

"Perhaps you should rest, my child. Lay down your burden." From the look on Mother Victoria's face, this was less a suggestion and more a command.

"No, please... I... I wish to stay." Taking a deep breath, Leliana closed her eyes, forcing herself to recall the verse once more. "For I walk only where You would bid me, stand only in places You have blessed-"

_The two of them sat by a lake, fingers entwined in friendship as they talked. Leliana smiled at the woman and gave her hand a squeeze. "I have made my choice. Your quest is the one thing that can stop all of Ferelden and Thedas from falling into the abyss of which I dreamed. How could I not help you?"_

_The woman's blue eyes widened, filling with amazement. "You have so much faith."_

Mother Victoria looked sharply at her. "Sister, if you cannot complete a verse without distraction, I must insist you go and lie down. You are disrupting services."

Leliana's chest tightened. Around her, the Chant of Light continued, the scents of candle wax and perfumed smoke heavy and intoxicating. Only now did Leliana notice her robes - not those of an initiate, but of one ordained. A position she'd never risen to.

An old feeling of warning squirmed in the pit of her stomach. She'd not felt this way since she'd left Orlais - _never_ had the Chantry inspired anything but peace within her soul. And now, these visions? A lesser person might have wondered at their sanity, but her instincts had saved Leliana's life too many times to be ignored. "This is wrong," she murmured.

"Sister-"

"No." Leliana shook her head as she rose on wobbling legs. "What is happening?"

The congregation ignored the spectacle she made as she strode down the aisle, heading for the exit. Every fiber of her being ordered her to run, to leave this cursed place and never look back.

The voices droned on, no longer seeming musical and uplifting, but filled with terrible portent. "Draw your last breath, my friends, Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky. Rest at the Maker's right hand, And be Forgiven."

A breath of realization filled Leliana's chest. She slowed, her robes brushing the tops of her boots as she turned back once more. The chantry was just as it should be. And yet... "I'm in the Fade," she whispered.

Though her words had been softer than a sigh, the Chant ceased instantly as every head in the room snapped toward her. Fire flashed in Mother Victoria's eyes, fading a scant second later as she stepped forward, her hands folded and tucked within her sleeves. "Sister, you are unwell. Come, kneel. Pray with us. 'The one who repents, who has faith, unshaken by the darkness of the world, she shall know true peace.'"

_"You_ are NOT fit to speak the Chant of Light!" Leliana cried.

The robes were illusion; her daggers were nestled tight against her shoulders, she was certain. Driven by her instincts, the cloth melted away as she pulled them, her black-as-night armor revealed. Her stomach unknotted at the familiar clutch of leather and steel, and she tore up the aisle, tempered anger fueling her steps.

Mother Victoria's eyes widened as she approached. For a moment, Leliana thought the demon would attempt another deception. The words of the Chant blazed through Leliana's mind, and she heard her own voice crying them as she descended upon the creature. "_The first of the Maker's children watched across the Veil, and grew jealous of the life they could not feel, could not touch. In blackest env__y were the demons born!"_

Mother Victoria's visage rippled, the demon's true form revealed by her words. A creation of the pit, its skin was blackened and cracked, golden heat gleaming between each break. Molten lava dripped from its spare frame, its eyes lambent with fiery anger. An unearthly howl split the air, its hands flying to cover ears smirched by the holy words.

An unoccupied corner of Leliana's mind wondered at this - had the demon itself not been speaking the Chant only moments before? Why now did it writhe at the sound?

The words lit her mind once more, white as holy fire. "_And so is the Golden City blackened with each step you take in My Hall. Marvel at perfection, for it is fleeting. You have brought Sin to Heaven and doom upon all the world!" _

The words rang with the blessing of the Maker Himself, and the demon fell back further, holding withered hands before its face as it cringed beneath her verbal assault.

"_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade, for there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light, and nothing that He has wrought shall be lost!" _Leliana's voice rose in triumphant chorus, drawing an agonized bellow from the foul creature. With a strength she'd never felt before, she drove her daggers deep into its chest.

The sound of the demon's death jarred through her like a knife on glass, the soul-shattering pain of its final scream driving Leliana to her knees. Her strength and courage fled, leaving her to cower on the ground.

All around her roared the demons, a thousand evil shrieks slowly fading into the distance to be replaced by unearthly silence and cold, utter blackness.

A gentle, protective touch surrounded her, like a mother's arms. Leliana thought nothing of this - simply clung to the reassuring feeling, knowing she was safe and loved, even as small and frail and fragile as she was. No harm would befall her now.

Leliana drew a hesitant breath. The only sound that remained in the ether was her own heartbeat. Nothing evil was left - the world was a blank slate.

The arms faded, the soothing presence drifting away. Leliana mourned the emptiness it left behind, but as the seconds ticked by, she realized - she'd not fought her battle alone. Something had come to her assistance... something divine.

Trembling hands clasped beneath her chin as prayers poured from her lips. How blessed she was, to have been protected in her moment of need. Truly, the Maker loved her, and how lucky she was to have His care. How fortunate the world was to have been granted His spark.

Her moment of reflection and thanks finished, Leliana pushed to her feet, determined to find her friends. A faint light shone to the east, and with nothing else to go on, she jogged into the darkness.

.oOo.

Lyra stumbled through the gloom, her thoughts whirling. Where could the others be? Was it possible she was doomed to wander the halls of the Fade forever? _No_, she thought. _Alistair is here. He's got to be._

But what if he wasn't?

That same sense of lonesomeness crept over her bones, leaving her shivering. Her breath hitched, and she began to run, trying to ignore her empty surroundings. Movement was better than stillness; if she was going to get anywhere, at least she would get there _faster_ this way. _Maker help me... _She was no mage, how was she supposed to control this nightmare?

Alistair had mentioned that the mages often had dealings in the Fade. _Wynne's had training in this, I'm sure. Her students, too - they would have solved it by now. How I wish I could find her!_

To her left, something brightened. Merely a dim purple that cut the black, but it was better than the nothingness which had enveloped her til now. Urging her taut muscles to move faster, Lyra sped toward the bit of brightness. The random thought crept through her mind that it could be something dangerous, but at this point, she hardly cared. Even stumbling into a nest of abominations would be better than being lost forever.

The smooth surface beneath her feet changed to powdery dirt, littered with bits of rock that crunched beneath her feet. One such shard stuck to the bottom of her boot, sending a shooting pain through the pad of her foot. Swearing, she paused to reach down and yank it free.

The fragment rolling in her palm wasn't rock, but whitened bone.

A cold shudder rippled through her as it fell from her hand, joining countless other lambent bits scattered over the colorless landscape. Lyra's breathing quickened as she crept into the soft violet haze, the light deepening to a morose red as she went.

_They're just __old __bones_, she told herself. _And they aren't real. This is a dream. An awful, horrid dream._

Yet the plethora of human remains was growing more grisly with every step she took. Broken pieces gave way to a scattering of long, bleached segments. Suddenly, Lyra stopped and sucked in her breath. There before her lay a complete skeleton, its empty-eyed skull leering at her in the lurid glow.

Maker's Breath, could this be where Alistair was being held?

The reality wavered, and Lyra halted, paralyzed with the terrible fear that she would be left alone in the dark once more. _No! Please! _

Unable to stand it another second, she took off running once more. Not far ahead was a column of rock, the only clear landmark in this desolate place. Her heart leapt in her chest when she rounded it, spotting the Circle mage who'd joined their party. At last!

"Wynne! Oh Wynne..." Lyra gasped as she slid to a crouch in front of the elder woman. "Thank the Maker I found you. I was so afraid I'd be alone forever-"

Wynne raised mournful eyes. "I was too late. They are all dead," she said softly.

Only now did Lyra notice the young woman Wynne held in her arms. It was her apprentice - the girl who'd given her the potions. Shaking her head, Lyra gulped air. "Wynne. No. This is a dream. Come with me. We have to find the others and get out of here." She tugged at the mage's hands.

Wynne shook her off, irritated. "You are being disrespectful to the dead. Leave an old woman to grieve in peace. I shall bury their bones." This last was said mostly to herself as she turned back to Petra's lifeless stare. More young people surrounded them, their bodies strewn about like abused rag dolls. Lyra's stomach turned... these were Wynne's pupils. What horror must the mage feel at seeing them thus? At believing they were truly gone?

Reaching around, Lyra grasped her shoulders. This couldn't continue. "Wynne. Please - don't you remember me?" Her voice trembled as she begged, her hands tightening as she gave the mage a shake. "Try, Wynne! We were in the Tower. There was a demon, and I think it trapped us here. Please, you must remember!"

Wynne threw off Lyra's hands, her brows meeting as her face contorted with anger. "Who do you think you are? You're not of the Circle. I don't know you!" Then a look of puzzlement skittered across her face, and she put a hand to her forehead. "Wait. There is something..."

"Yes! Wynne, I'm Lyra Cousland, of the Grey Wardens. We have to find Alistair and Leliana. The Tower – it must be saved!"

"It is... difficult to remember..." Wynne peered at Lyra again. "Your face - I _know_ you."

Lyra nearly cried with relief. "Yes, you do! Come on, we've got to get out of here." Lyra tugged on the woman's hand again, drawing her reluctantly to her feet.

"Don't leave us, Wynne!" One of the apprentices unfolded its body from an awful tangle of limbs. Lyra's heart faltered, her eyes widening. He seemed hale enough, though seconds earlier he'd been decomposing.

"Holy Maker - what are you?" Wynne's eyes hardened, her staff gripped in one capable hand as she backed away from the boy.

"Stay with us, Wynne! Stay! Stay! Don't leave us!" More of her students rose to their feet. Their eyes pleaded, youthful faces innocent and full of need.

"Keep away, foul creatures!" A blast of cleansing fire burst from Wynne's staff. Lyra pulled her daggers, preparing to jump into the fray... but when the flames died, nothing remained but six charred, smoking corpses. Wynne slung her staff grimly onto her back, and Lyra put her daggers away, feeling a bit useless.

"I remember now. We are at the mercy of the Sloth demon. He must have crafted dreams for each of us. Come, there is no time to lose. We must hurry and find your companions." Wynne strode off, her old confidence returned.

"How do we do it?" Lyra asked, hurrying to catch up with the older woman.

"We must think of them, and call to them with our minds – join our dreams to theirs, as it were. How did you find me?"

"I..." Lyra paused, unsure. "I don't know, honestly. I was running, and I suppose I _was_ thinking of finding you. And then there you were."

"Have you ever been asleep, and realized you were dreaming? The Fade is a dream world, and when you know that you are the dreamer, you can control it – at least, a little bit," Wynne said. "There are those who can actually create and tear the fabric of the Fade. They are called _Somniari_, and they have powers far greater than you or I. But you hardly asked for a lesson. Concentrate on your companions. Take control of your dream."

Lyra took a breath and closed her eyes, summoning a memory of Alistair. Hazel eyes, sparkling as he laughed. His callused hands, warm as they wrapped around her own. The sweet way he looked at her, like she was the most precious thing in the world.

Childish laughter echoed.

"There." She pointed off into the distance, and she and Wynne began to run toward the sounds.

A small cottage shimmered into being, beautiful in its country simplicity. The roof was thatched with golden straw, snugly prepared for winter. Flower boxes planted with bright blossoms adorned the windows, and the door was painted a lively green. Lyra hesitated. This cottage – was _this_ where Alistair had gone? She remembered her own dream sequence -she'd been at home, surrounded by comfort and family. But Alistair had no family... or perhaps he'd lived here with his mother before she died?

Only one way to find out. Lyra stepped up to the door and knocked. A moment later, it was thrown open, and her heart danced to see Alistair on the other side.

"Hey, it's great to see you!" Alistair said happily. He wore no armor, but instead simple linen; shirt, trousers and sturdy boots. He looked younger, more innocent... and yet, something was missing. He seemed almost vacuous, as if all his depth was gone, leaving only a caricature of the handsome Warden. "I was just thinking about you. What a coincidence! Please, come inside. You must meet my sister and her children!" He took her hand and pulled her into the cottage. Wynne followed without a word.

_His sister?_ Lyra frowned, unable to recall mention of a sister.

A woman with muddled features was bent over a stove, stirring something that smelled delicious. "Goldanna, meet my friend," Alistair bubbled. "This is my sister, Goldanna, and these are her children! Uh, there's about five of them, I think. They're here... somewhere." Alistair looked puzzled. As if in response to his thought, the aforementioned children appeared and ran to him, begging him to play. He laughed, reaching for a small girl and tossing her in the air.

Lyra watched in silence, her stomach churning. Her own dream had been what she'd most longed for - Highever, her parents, her nephew and her sister-in-law. Was this what Alistair wanted? A home, a family? Yet, to save him, she would have to destroy it.

How could she do that to him?

Alistair chuckled as he ruffled the hair of a little tow-headed boy, who stared up at him in adoration.

"Is your friend staying for dinner, Alistair?" Goldanna asked. It was nauseating to look at her; with her continuous morphing, she was the creepiest thing Lyra had seen so far. Frightening as they'd been, the other demons had at least been true to their forms.

"Say you'll stay! Goldanna makes the best mince pie," Alistair wheedled with a joyful smile. Even his voice seemed younger.

Swallowing her dread, Lyra shook her head. "Alistair, I can't stay, and you shouldn't either. We have to go. Now."

"Oh, please don't leave! It's been so long since we've seen each other." Alistair reached for her hand, his eyes pleading. "And I can't go, anyway. Goldanna needs my help putting the little ones to bed. They like me to read to them, you see," he whispered.

"I'm sure they do..." Lyra snuck a glance back at the children, who were watching her with suspicious eyes.

Alistair tugged her hand, the carefree grin returning to his face. "C'mon. Let's have some of that pie."

Lyra's heart was bleeding. In this dream world where anything at all could be brought to being, Alistair's ultimate fantasy was to have a family, children - a simple, beautiful life with no Darkspawn and no Grey Wardens. The knowledge of what she was about to do wormed in her gut like maggotty meat.

"Alistair. Do you remember me?" she asked in a soft voice.

He paused to peer back, letting go of her hand as he looked her over. A frown touched his face, but then the simple grin returned. "Of course I do! You're - well..." His cheery demeanor slipped, confusion lining his brow.

"She's your friend, right Alistair?" Goldanna said. Her tone was sharp, her movements slow as she slithered forward.

A relieved smile upped the corners of Alistair's mouth, that vacant expression settling in. "Yes, you're my friend."

"How did we meet?" Lyra persisted, keeping one eye on Goldanna.

"We - uh... that's strange." Alistair blinked. "I don't..."

"It was a long time ago, Alistair, it's no wonder you don't remember," Goldana said. Her voice was shifting, changing, taking on that otherworldly quality that Lyra remembered from their encounter with Connor.

_I'm making progress,_ Lyra thought, encouraged. _She can feel him slipping._

"Yes... a long time ago..." Alistair repeated the words, but he looked less certain now.

Lyra glanced at Goldanna, whose fingers were flexing at her sides, her nails sharp as talons. Behind Alistair, the children stood stock still, their dark eyes boring through her. A tremor of fear cramped her stomach, but then Wynne caught her eye and nodded.

Squaring her shoulders, Lyra reached out and caught his hand again. "Alistair, do you remember Duncan?" she asked in a soft voice.

"Duncan... Duncan..." he mused, mulling the name over.

Goldanna hissed as Alistair's eyes flew wide. Horror filled his face as he turned back to Lyra. "Duncan died at Ostagar. You! You and I are the last Grey Wardens. We have to stop the Blight! We were - what _were_ we doing?"

"The Circle Tower." She squeezed his hand.

"Yes! That's it!" Alistair exclaimed.

With a burst of flame, the children vanished. Goldanna shrieked with fury, her body writhing as her true form was revealed; long and thin as a string bean, with spidery arms and legs colored a deep crimson.

"Holy Maker..." Alistair gasped, staggering back as his armor materialized. Grimacing, he reached for his sword and sprinted toward the demon with a cry of rage.

Lyra tried to draw her daggers but found she was unable to move. Her stomach tied itself in knots as Alistair circled, throwing out furious cuts. The demon screeched, the sound deafening as it tried to wrap its arms around him in a mortal hug. Lyra was certain Alistair would have been squeezed to death, but he deftly knocked the creature's arms to the side with his shield. A battle cry left his lips as he stabbed, vicious and unrelenting. Unconcerned, the demon reached for him once more.

Alistair swung his shield in a mighty circle, knocking the demon back again. It howled, and then Alistair's arms... _pushed... _at the air. With a terrible wail, the demon burst into flames, melting away into a disgusting puddle.

All at once, the paralysis broke. Freed from the binding spell, Lyra rushed forward to throw her arms around Alistair. He clasped her close, one hand finding the back of her head as they held each other. Lyra swallowed, her throat aching as she held back tears. It was such a relief to be together again.

"What is this place?" he whispered, his voice rank with fear.

"We are in the Fade, young man." Wynne's voice ended the moment, and their arms loosened as they turned to face the mage. "You have fought your demon, and we are nearly all reunited. All that remains is to find Leliana, and then we can face the Sloth demon together. Are you ready?"

"The Fade. I thought only mages could visit the Fade?" Alistair asked. He still looked shaken, and Lyra wound her fingers with his.

"Everyone visits the Fade while they sleep. We were sent here, each into our own dream, carefully crafted by the Sloth demon to ensnare our minds. You remember, don't you?" Wynne's pedantic voice was soothing in the eerie blackness that surrounded them.

"Yes... I remember now." Alistair took a breath and settled his shoulders. Lyra ached to witness the look of pain and resignation that crossed his handsome face. If it were in her power, she'd have granted his wish, given him the life he wanted. _And I would be there, too,_ she thought, _and so would my family._

"Let us find Leliana," Wynne said, and the three of them hurried off into the blackness.

.oOo.

"You cannot hold me. My friends are coming," Leliana spat. She struggled, but iron bands had wrapped themselves around her body, keeping her as immobile as a swaddled infant.

A shudder ran through her as the Sloth demon gave a languid laugh. "Why fight? I can make you happy. Anything you want... can be yours..." the demon purred.

"I want nothing." Leliana's voice was proud. Grimacing, she bit back a cry of disgust as the demon snaked through her mind, probing for information. Such an intrusion made her want to vomit. How _dare_ he steal her most private thoughts!

"Not even... this?" the demon suggested.

A scene formed around her. She was in an elegant parlor, cozy in the dark woods and fine china which graced the room. A merry fire burned in the grate, and cloth-bound books lined the walnut shelves. Freshly cut flowers arranged in a glass vase sat on the table, atop a silken tablecloth flowing to the floor. Even the air smelled fresher, perfumed with a scent Leliana remembered all too well. Her heart shriveled in a burst of pain and longing. As though the sights weren't enough, the olfactory recollection was enough to turn her knees to jelly. _You do not fight fair, demon_, Leliana thought.

"Leliana, my darling!" The sight of the dark-haired beauty who swept into the room made Leliana's heart bleed. She was impeccable, as always... sleek as the satin she adored, not a hair out of place, her creamy cheeks touched with rouge. Almond eyes overflowed with love as she gathered Leliana into her arms. Any last thoughts of resistance melted as the woman leaned in to lay a soft kiss upon her mouth.

This was wrong... yet Leliana responded, her heart fluttering at the feel of her lover's lips upon hers. How she'd missed this. Hands moved of their own accord, rising to cradle the woman's beautiful face, as arms wound affectionately about her waist. "Marjolaine. You are exquisite," she murmured.

"Oh my dear, I was so worried for you! Do not leave me again, beloved," Marjolaine implored in a whisper.

Leliana pressed her lips to Marjolaine's again. So smooth and soft, so unlike a man's rough stubble. Leliana could play the helpless damsel when necessary, and her dramatic skills had aided her on many assassination jobs. But this, what she had with Marjolaine - this was real, the one thing she needed to again feel complete.

Marjolaine's fingers brushed over her breast, and Leliana groaned against her lips. She clasped her love closely, enjoying the sensuous feel of their bodies held tightly against one another. It had been much too long since she'd felt these stirrings of a passion returned without reserve.

"Marjolaine, I must ask about something." Leliana dragged her mouth along her love's jawline, nibbling on her earlobe.

Marjolaine shivered against her. "Say anything you like, just kiss me, lovely. Mmm... What is it?"

"The job you sent me on. I read the papers." Leliana pulled back, her eyes filling with worry. "Please tell me you aren't thinking of committing treason. Working within Orlais is one thing, but contracting out to Antiva as well? If you're caught, it will mean your life. The risk is too great. Please, my love..." she begged.

Marjolaine smiled reassuringly, and tapped Leliana's nose. "My Leliana, you have nothing to fear. I sent you on that job exactly _because_ I could not afford for those papers to fall into the wrong hands. Bran Fowler was trying to frame me – but you have killed him, _oui?_ Then we have nothing to fear. We will burn the papers tonight, and you and I will leave this life behind. I want to show you the whole world, beloved. Let us travel together."

Marjolaine held Leliana close, her hands roaming ever downward. Leliana gasped at the heat that blazed through her, skin flush with desire as Marjolaine hooked one hand beneath her knee. The redhead's heart swelled with love, her senses overtaken with longing. She touched her lips tenderly to Marjolaine's again, and they drank of each other.

.oOo.

"This way," Lyra said. A manor house had shimmered into being, surrounded by lush gardens and marble statues. The architecture was foreign - Lyra had never seen anything like it in Denerim, or anywhere else in Ferelden. Perhaps it was Orlesian? _What could have called Leliana back to Orlais?_

"You sure about this?" Alistair asked as they jogged closer.

Lyra closed her eyes, concentrating on Leliana. The pull increased, just as it had when she'd sought Alistair. "I'm sure."

The three of them dashed up the stone steps. Lyra didn't bother to knock, but merely pulled open the carven door and rushed into the manor.

The others trailed behind her as she followed her senses, trusting them to lead her to Leliana. When she skidded to an unexpected halt in the doorway of a fancy parlor, Alistair and Wynne nearly crashed into her.

Lyra's cheeks heated from the sight that greeted her eyes.

"Holy Maker, is she...? I - Maker, that's a - and Leliana is...!" Alistair's strangled voice broke the reverie of the moment.

Leliana held a raven-haired woman in her arms. The two of them were locked in a loving embrace, their lips joined in an amorous kiss. A moan lifted between them, and Alistair's mouth fell open.

"Shut up," Lyra hissed.

"But-"

Lyra shot him a venomous look. How indelicate could he be? Alistair snapped his mouth closed, though his eyes remained round as saucers.

Leliana broke away from her lover, spotting them crowded in the doorway. A sad smile played about the corners of her mouth as she met Lyra's gaze. Leliana gave her a nod, and Lyra pulled the door shut, backing Alistair and Wynne out into the hallway.

Alistair gestured to the door, confusion furrowing his brow. "Aren't we going to-"

"She'll be out in a moment," Lyra cut him off. "And no comments about what you just saw."

Alistair's eyes darted again to the door. He looked as though he might burst from the thoughts playing through his mind.

Wynne raised one brow. "Alistair, really."

Whatever the man might have said in response was interrupted by an unearthly wail. Lyra yanked the door open, the three of them charging into the room in time to see Leliana bury her blade in the dark-haired woman's gut. A howl whipped through the room as the woman shimmered, becoming a mere phantasm that disappeared into nothingness.

Leliana sniffled, her dagger sliding back into its sheath as the demon's dying moan faded until there was only silence. Around them, the manse dwindled, leaving them in the empty blackness once more. The sister crossed her arms, her eyes trained on the ground.

Creeping forward, Lyra laid a hand on her friend's shoulder. With a sob, Leliana flung herself into Lyra's embrace, her slender frame shaking as the depth of her grief poured from her in a stream of tears.

"Are you okay?" Lyra whispered, holding Leliana tight. The sister gave a watery nod after a moment, though her grip did not lessen. Alistair and Wynne said nothing, merely waited while Leliana gathered herself back together.

"Thank you. I am fine," Leliana managed after another moment. She offered all of them a resolved smile, though it seemed forced. "I am glad you found me. Come. The Circle needs us."

Wynne stepped forward, her hands outstretched, her eyes kind. "Now we face the demon. Join hands with me, please."

Lyra and Leliana moved to either side of Wynne, the four of them forming an unbroken circle. Wynne's voice lifted in an arcane chant, filling the air with her power. The blackness changed, colors flowing around them like rainwater on a window. Sharp and defined, then soft and hazy, the blues and greens and reds and yellows melted like butter and froze like snow. Lyra clenched her eyes shut, the flashing hues dizzying to her senses. She perceived no movement, though the bright lights continued to pulse against her eyelids.

A lazy, slow voice brought the peculiar sensation to a halt. "Interesting. You are strong... but this time, I will do better."

The Sloth demon stood before them, the only other creature in a featureless world. Wynne did not loosen her grip, and so Lyra held on tighter. Alistair's fingers closed more securely around her own, and across the way Leliana offered her a determined nod.

The monster drifted lazily toward them. "You need only trust me…." His voice caressed Lyra's bones like a swath of silk, and she felt herself begin to slip into another fantasy.

_Alistair stood before her on a sunset-washed plain, a rose in his hands. A gentle smile curved his mouth, his hand outstretched. "Come on," he whispered. "Let's get out of here."_

"No!" cried Lyra, causing the scene to explode into fragments. Each shattered piece smoked into nothing, vanishing into the airless atmosphere. At her side, Alistair appeared similarly shaken, and Leliana's tears had returned - yet they all still held fast to each others' hands.

"You will die, demon," Lyra growled.

Wynne entreated softly, "Lend me your strength. Do not let go."

"What?" Alistair asked, but Wynne was chanting again. The demon shrieked, perhaps knowing just what the mage intended. Wynne's voice rose, and Lyra felt a curious sensation in her hands. There was energy flowing through her, concentrated in her palms. Wynne chanted louder, and the demon continued to screech, writhing and shaking as if her words were daggers piercing its horrid flesh. The mage's voice rose to even greater heights, and the tickling in Lyra's hands grew almost unbearable. The stinging itch stretched through her arms, ribboning faster and faster until they were almost numb.

The Sloth demon raged at them as Wynne's voice lifted. Lyra felt herself bowing from the extreme power racing through her, her spine arching as she fought to keep her grip on her companions. A groan fought its way past her clenched teeth.

Droplets of sweat coursed down Alistair's cheeks, and Leliana's pretty features were wracked with concentration. Only Wynne remained serene, her eyes focused and glassy as the magical words poured from her lips.

Blazes of fire filled the air as the demon cried out its unholy death, sinuous arms thrown to the sky as the ground opened up to consume it. Molten sparks flew as the monster clawed the earth, seeking desperately to pull itself back up. A blast of pure force shot through the group as Wynne channeled the raised energy. A primal scream ripped from Lyra's throat as, with one final, triumphant word, the mage sent the demon howling back into the abyss.

The dream world melted away in an instant, leaving them in the tower room once more. Wynne stood victorious over the fallen body of the Sloth demon. She let go of their hands, and Lyra nearly collapsed, her legs too shaky to hold her up. She staggered to the closest wall instead, sliding down along it to huddle on the cold stone floor. All of them were panting and weak, as wrung out as washrags.

Alistair flung his hands about as if he were shaking water from them. "The next time a mage asks me to lend her my strength, I'm going to run in the other direction."

"Would you prefer I _not_ kill the next Demon we come across?" Wynne asked him sharply.

"Actually, I think I'm feeling better already," Alistair amended in a bright voice, causing Wynne's tense features to soften as she released a soft chuckle.


	18. Uldred's Fall

**Chapter 16  
>Uldred's Fall<strong>

"We have no time to waste," Wynne said in a brisk voice. "We may be too late already. I have no idea how much time passed while we were locked in the Fade."

"I do," Leliana said. "It's a quarter til five. The sun will be rising soon."

"How do you know?" Alistair demanded, curious. "No one can know the exact time that well."

Leliana shifted, a cornered look in her eyes. "Well...I-"

"It's as good a guess as any," Wynne said, coming to the redhead's rescue. "Now isn't the time for explanations. We have to hurry." She strode off, but Lyra noticed something near the fallen body of the Sloth demon. A young man, seemingly asleep... another victim of the dream world? She knelt and shook his shoulder, but he didn't move.

"Wynne," she called. "Look. I think this man is still trapped in the Fade."

Wynne hurried over to kneel by the prostate youth, and a look of sorrow came over her features. "Niall," she whispered. "He is dead. When the Sloth demon was killed, he should have awakened from his dreams. That he has not means he is lost to us. He was trapped for too long." Her gentle fingers reached over and smoothed the young man's messy brown hair.

"What's he holding?" Alistair asked.

Lyra glanced at Niall's hands. Clutched in his fingers was a vellum scroll. Reaching over, she pried his fingers open, pressing her lips tightly together as her stomach squirmed from the cold, clammy feel of the dead man's skin. The paper came free after a bit more wiggling, and she handed the rumpled scroll to Wynne, who opened it with interest.

Wynne's breath caught in her throat. "The Litany of Adralla. Oh no..." she murmured.

"What is it?" Lyra asked anxiously.

Wynne rolled the scroll again and slipped it into her belt pouch. "The Litany of Adralla is the only incantation that can nullify any kind of mind control magic, even those magics performed by _Somniari_. If we'd had this in the Fade... well. We wouldn't have been trapped. It was developed by Adralla of Vyrantium, and it is one of the few spells we have that is tied to an object - it cannot be cast unless the mage possesses a scroll with the words written upon it. Perhaps that is because reality will always cut through non-reality…" She shook her head as if to clear it. "But I digress. Niall and Uldred were friends; they fought often before I left for Ostagar. It was one something Irving and I spoke about at length... we had suspicions of something in the works. If Niall had the Litany, that must mean that Uldred has been using mind control."

"Wait. If Niall had the Litany - why was he trapped by the demon? Couldn't he have used it to escape?" Leliana asked, clearly confused.

Wynne shook her head slowly, her shoulders lifting in a helpless shrug. "Perhaps he was not able to use it before he was trapped in his own dream, and could not rouse himself in time. The dreams are very powerful."

A flush rose to Lyra's cheeks as she recalled the intimate way Alistair had looked at her in that final dream moment. He caught her eye then, and his warm smile weakened her knees. She wondered - what had the others had dreamed of during that last ditch attempt by the demon?

"Let's go," Alistair said. "We can be done before breakfast, if what Leliana says is true."

"Do you often do your demon killing before breakfast?" Lyra teased. It seemed the more serious the circumstances, the more she found comfort in their playful exchanges.

"It's the best time of day for it. Whets the appetite." Alistair grinned as he poked her in the ribs, making her giggle.

Alistair caught Lyra's hand and held it gently as they moved toward the next stairwell. "What did you dream of?" he asked quietly.

"Home... I saw my parents, and my nephew. I almost didn't want to wake up," she said ruefully.

"I didn't, either. Although I was awfully glad to see you." Alistair said. "You were the only thing missing from my dream." He squeezed her hand gently.

Lyra blushed, his words thrilling. She remembered something else, then. "You said the woman in your dream was your sister?" she questioned. "I don't remember you mentioning a sister."

"Oh. Well, yes... you see, after I was conscripted by Duncan, I did some checking. My mother died giving birth to me, and I never knew it til then, but I have an older sister," he said. "Her name's Goldanna. She lives in Denerim, actually, near the alienage. I had planned on asking you if we might...go see her? When we go to Denerim. I've never met her, you see, and I'd at least like to warn her of the Blight." Alistair's eyes were pleading. "It shouldn't take very long. I'm not planning on any kind of complicated family reunion-"

"Of course we can meet her. I don't care how long it takes. You deserve to meet your sister," Lyra said firmly, and Alistair's eyes fairly danced with happiness. He squeezed her hand again, then pulled her into his arms for a tight hug.

"Thank you," he murmured. Lyra let her eyes drift close as she snuggled into him. They fit together sowell...

The sound of Wynne clearing her throat broke the serenity of the moment. "We need to hurry." The old woman's face was disapproving. Lyra disengaged herself from Alistair, feeling sheepish. They followed Wynne up the stairs, scurrying to close the distance. Alistair pushed open the door, and they ascended to the sixth floor.

.oOo.

"Come on!" Lyra's feet pounded the stones as she sprinted, full out, toward the doorway. Alistair panted as he caught up, and Leliana's light footfalls weren't far behind. Streams of fire flew from Wynne's staff as she brought up the rear, though she lagged behind all of them. Lyra hit the door running, grabbed the handle and yanked it open. She skidded through, with Alistair and Leliana hot on her heels.

Wynne stopped a few feet away, whirling to face the horde of Hunger demons that pursued them. With an arcanic cry, a blast of flame shot from her staff, blow-torching them all. Their howls of pain seemed to drill inside Lyra's head as she grabbed the mage's hand and pulled her through the door.

Alistair slammed it shut and leaned his back against it as the cries of demonic death echoed through the granite walls. He leaned over to rest his hands on his knees, his breathing labored, while next to him, Lyra stumbled to the ground, her head hanging low as she fought for air. Leliana slumped against the wall, her face pressed to the cool stone as she pulled in long, deep breaths.

Wynne panted as badly as the rest, but her shaking hands fumbled a potion from her pack and unstoppered it. The shimmering blue liquid disappeared in three gulps. Its effects were immediate; her face cleared and her back straightened, her skin suffused with a healthy glow. Wynne's graceful hands lifted, and a wave of invigorating magic expanded outward. Lyra's eyes closed as the welcome sensation flowed over her. She still felt as though she couldn't quite get a full breath, but her exhausted muscles eased with the mage's healing.

"I'm starving," Lyra muttered. Alistair nodded, then rummaged a strip of jerky from his pouch and tossed it to Lyra, who began gnawing the tough meat in earnest. He offered some to the others as well, but they only shook their heads. Seconds later his own strip of jerky was half gone as he inhaled it like he hadn't eaten in days. If Alistair was half as hungry as she was, his stomach had half consumed itself already.

"We are almost there," Wynne said. "The next floor holds the Harrowing chamber. Uldred is surely within."

Lyra nodded as she crammed the last bite of jerky into her mouth.

"How many floors did we run through as those creatures chased us? I lost count." Alistair was still chewing as he lifted his waterskin to drink deeply.

"Four? At least four," Lyra said. "There were so _many_ abominations! I'm amazed we got away, and that Wynne was able to destroy them all." The evil sounds behind the door had finally stopped. Despite her potion, Wynne was looking a bit peaked, but otherwise it seemed the chase hadn't done her any permanent damage. She was obviously a very, very powerful mage.

"Are you ready, Wardens?" Wynne asked. She looked around, then gave a cry of recognition as she hurried to a small door just off of the stairwell. "This is Irving's office! He may be within!" She muttered an incantation, then threw open the door, and the others hurried after her.

A very neat but very empty office met their hopeful eyes.

Wynne sighed, her shoulders drooping. "If he is not here, he is either dead, or with Uldred in the next chamber. It was a faint hope. Come." She turned to go, and Alistair followed her.

Leliana lingered by the desk, however, and gave a short whistle to snag Lyra's attention. "Look at this."

She held up a small book that seemed to be made of… _Maker's mercy_. Blackened skin.

Leliana twirled the book in her fingers, unbothered by its macabre appearance. "Doesn't this look similar to the book Morrigan reads when we're camping?"

Lyra peered at it, her nose wrinkling. "It does, sort of. So?"

"We should take it with us. See if she'd be interested."

Lyra was shocked. "You mean _steal_ it?"

Leliana gave a wicked grin, one eyebrow rising in invitation.

Lyra opened her mouth to protest, but then changed her mind and shut it. This book didn't really look as if it belonged here in the First Enchanter's office. It might contain lost information, things that Morrigan could put to good use. That spell for food preservation, for instance; Lyra was pretty sure that one hadn't come from Kinloch Hold. Good things could come even from an apostate. And they really _could_ use all the help they could get…

Lyra turned to go, whispering over her shoulder at Leliana, "I didn't see _anything_."

A moment later Leliana breezed out of the office, throwing Lyra a conspiratorial wink. Wynne and Alistair were already climbing the stairs, and the girls hurried to join them.

After a quick glance to make sure everyone was ready, the mage opened the door. A terrified yell - a terrified _human_ yell - turned Lyra's blood to ice.

Wynne pressed her hand over her heart. "Maker preserve us," she whispered, her face white. But Lyra's heart sped with hope. Frightening as the sound had been, it was the first sign of living humanity they'd come upon since the blood mages several floors below. Whatever had made that sound was alive, and in trouble, and in need of rescue.

In the room, a circle of light surrounded a young templar, rounded walls of hazy glow caging him in a cylindrical prison. The lad was huddled on his knees, his face turned toward the granite floor, a stream of incoherent babble pouring from his lips.

"Sweet Andraste," Alistair breathed. "Cullen?"

The young man's head snapped up as they crept into the room. "Away, demons!" he gritted. "You'll not have me!"

"Easy, friend," Alistair soothed. "You're safe now-"

"Away, I said!" he cried, scrambling backward as he struggled to his feet.

"He's gone mad," Wynne observed in a quiet voice. "He does not see us."

"Why do you not go?!" The templar screamed, his trembling hands rising to his face. "Maker deliver me from this torment! Days I have been here, my prayers unceasing... Holy Maker, why do you not hear me?"

"We've got to get him out of there." Lyra was horrified. "Wynne, can you?"

The mage planted her staff on the stone floor, her chin dropping as she murmured an incantation.

Nothing happened.

"Let me try," Alistair said. "You might want to back up, Wynne."

The mage murmured an agreement as she hurried back out of the room. Lyra glanced between Wynne and Alistair, confused. What did Alistair intend to-

Alistair closed his eyes, and just as he had in the Fade, shoved at the air. If Lyra hadn't known better, she'd have thought he was attempting to push back an invisible foe.

The light which caged the young templar didn't waver.

"Damn," Alistair sighed. "Cleansing it does nothing. Come on back, Wynne," he called.

The templar looked up from his crouched misery. "Why do you not leave? Every other time I have called on the Maker, the demons have vanished. What new torture is this?"

"We're really here, Cullen." Alistair hurried over to the imprisoned templar. "Hold on. We'll get you out."

"Alistair?" The young man whispered, his widening eyes bloodshot and weary. "No. You left the templars. You - joined the Wardens."

"How do we get you out?" Lyra demanded, interrupting their reunion. Anxiety had tied her stomach in knots, and there would be plenty of time for memories once the man was free.

"You don't," Cullen gritted. "Uldred imprisoned me. The bastard is in the Harrowing chamber - Maker, the screams..." A broken whimper fell from his throat as he clutched his head once more. "No! Begone! I... will _not_!"

"Come on." Alistair shook his head, disheartened. "He's slipping in and out of reality. The sooner we stop Uldred, the sooner he'll be free."

Though she was reluctant to leave the poor man in such torment, Lyra followed the others as they backed away and climbed the stairs to the Harrowing chamber. Slowly, Alistair opened the door.

The chamber was circular, with a sloping ceiling and rounded windows reaching to the very top of the curve. Soft blue light filled the room, though Lyra couldn't find its source. A mosaic of muted colors composed the floor, polished to a gentle sheen. The room was beautiful; but marring its peaceful ambiance were the scents and sound of torment.

Several mages slumped upon the floor, motionless as lumps of wet dough on a baker's counter. Hands and feet were bound by thin ropes, and a few of them had been bloodied, the cuts on their faces testament to their resistance.

In the center of the room stood two abominations, their loathsome bodies swaying in tandem. Between them was a young man, wearing the robes of a Senior Enchanter. His back was to them, his attention occupied by another mage who dangled in the air before him. Rather than the restful pose one might expect when being held aloft, the poor mage seemed strung up on an invisible pole. Azure light pooled around him, his toes stretching to graze the floor.

Lyra never would have expected to be able to hear the man's words, but the perfect acoustics of the room carried the sounds right to their ears.

"Come now. Wouldn't it be easier to give in? Think of what I offer…" The Senior Enchanter's voice was a purr.

The hovering mage groaned in agony, his head rolling back and forth.

"Unleash your power... All you must do is say the word. Come now… say it… _say it..._"

The mage mumbled something in a weary voice, and the enchanter gave a cruel laugh. He snapped his fingers, dissolving the light and tumbling the mage to the floor in an ungraceful heap. The two abominations knelt to help him up, and as he stood, his form split and heaved.

Lyra froze in disbelief. He was changing before their very eyes, becoming one of those _things_. How could anyone ever make that choice? How much torture had he endured?

"Uldred." Wynne strode forward, followed by Alistair and Leliana. Startled out of her horrified trance, Lyra scurried after them.

"Wynne! How kind of you to join us." The mage gave a low, mocking bow. "You are too late. The last one has just joined my side. Nothing will stop us now."

"Uldred, what is the meaning of this? The templars have called for the Right of Annulment. How can you destroy the Circle – your family, your friends?" Wynne scolded him.

Lyra was a bit surprised that they were even speaking about it. Did Wynne think to _shame _him into changing his mind?_ Shouldn't we attack now, and speak later?_ she thought anxiously.

Uldred seemed to share Lyra's opinion. He laughed derisively. "Family? Friends? You really think that, don't you? Well, not all of us will screw the templars to earn favors. How many of them have you had, old woman? Is Greagoir in your pocket, too?"

Wynne gasped in shock. "How dare you..."

"This is _not_ a home. It never has been!" Uldred raged. "Mages have no freedom here – we are kept under constant lock and key, and if we step out of line _once_, the templars make us Tranquil! Did you know, Wynne, that Jowan was going to be made Tranquil? Just because he wasn't prepared for his Harrowing. And whose fault was that? Could it have been... his teachers?"

Wynne's eyes narrowed.

Uldred's voice brimmed with hatred. "That's why he ran. I helped him…" He calmed as he sank into the memory. "I destroyed his phylactery so they wouldn't find him. He wanted to stay, to help me, but I told him it would be better if he went out into the world, learn what he could. When Teyrn Loghain contacted me about a mage to send to Lady Isolde, I knew he would be the perfect candidate."

Lyra's chest tightened, her vision hazing with red. Would the betrayals never end?

"Things must change! Now that Cailan is dead, Loghain has promised the leadership of the new Circle to ME. I will RULE!" Uldred shrilled, his eyes wild. Suddenly, he came down once more, a sadistic smile twisting his mouth. "And I'm not the only one who was fed up. Do you think Anders is the only one who dreams of escape? Not all of us are happy to be locked away forever. I had help. Isn't that right… Irving?"

The sound of Wynne's gasp was heard by all as two more abominations stepped aside, revealing an old man in green robes trimmed with gold. He was on his knees, his head bobbing from side to side as his eyes rolled in and out of focus. His gray hair was lank with sweat, hanging in twisted ropes which framed the ashen skin of his face. "No... Uldred. I never... helped... you..." First Enchanter Irving's voice was a study in agony.

Alistair drew his sword, flicking Lyra a meaningful glance. Without a word, she slipped her daggers from their sheaths. Leliana drew her blades as well, her beautiful face hard with anger.

"Oh, Irving, come now…" Uldred purred. "Tell them how you supplied me with lyrium. How you helped me work out the spell that even now binds you. How you _licked_ my feet in supplication…" A maniacal laugh tumbled forth.

Irving grimaced as he wobbled. "You... will pay... for this... Uldred," he croaked.

"I doubt that, old man," Uldred said pleasantly, then turned to Wynne again. "You should have seen him an hour ago. Bowing, agreeing, telling me how much he wanted the new order to succeed. But... perhaps he's been lying. Have you been lying to me, Irving?" Uldred gave a sharp gesture, and Irving snapped backward, his arms thrown wide as he gurgled in pain.

"Enough!" Wynne cried, her voice rising a panicked octave. "Release him!"

Uldred's brutal laugh echoed throughout the chamber as his form began to swell and change. "You have no power over me," he growled, the sound deepening to something truly awful. In mere seconds, Uldred was gone, and a terrifying creature towered over them. Twice Alistair's height, its skin was murky blue, pebbled with bony spikes. Empty eyes gleamed with anticipation as the demon stared through them.

"Wynne. What kind is that?" Lyra asked, her voice quivering.

"The worst kind. Pride," Wynne said softly.

Lyra nodded, backing up a touch as she prepared for the battle of her life.

"FOR THE GREY WARDENS!" Alistair shouted, and Lyra's voice joined his in the savage battle cry. The three of them stormed forward, Wynne's mage bolts flying past them to cascade over Uldred. Alistair led with his shield, slamming into the huge legs and bodily shoving the monster back a few precious inches.

Lyra was about to attempt to hamstring the beast, when from the corner of her eye she caught the three abominations rushing Alistair. She dashed toward them, desperate to protect his flank. Leliana skidded behind her, close on her heels.

An fiery explosion knocked Lyra backward, sending her stumbling.

"I'll take care of them. Concentrate on Uldred!" Wynne's voice admonished her. Tongues of flame devoured the threadbare robes as screams of fury boiled past the abominations' bony lips. The magical fire wasn't quite as effective as it had been on the Hunger demons, but Lyra wasn't about to complain. Wynne snatched another potion from her pouch and downed it, then sent another lick of fire shooting from the end of her staff.

Leliana gave a ululating cry as she sprinted back to Uldred. Lyra followed, looking for the best place to counter. She chose her target, drove her dagger into Uldred's knee, and was rewarded with a shriek of pain. Then the dark voice began to chant, and Lyra felt her mind overtaken by a terrible compulsion.

Her fists curled around the pommels of her blades as she focused on Alistair, whose concentration hadn't wavered under the demon's influence. It would be so easy - he'd never suspect it, never see it coming, and she could end him in seconds. Dark determination steeled her muscles as she prepared to rush him, slide her knife across his neck, drain the life from his body, watch him twitch as he choked on his own blood...

Wynne's voice chanted in answer, and Lyra's mind cleared of the dreadful thoughts. She staggered back, shaking her foggy brain. Horror coiled through her... the mind control had happened so quickly, she'd almost attacked _Alistair!_ Loathing burned through her as she turned back to Uldred. They had to end this, quickly. _Thank the Maker for the Litany!_

Teeth clenched, Alistair lifted his blade over his head and thrust it into the demon's chest, then pulled it out and drove it in again. Uldred's howl of pain filled the tower as Alistair freed his blade. Oozes of black vitrol seeped from the wounds he'd inflicted... the demon was weakening.

Lyra stabbed into the thick hide, then ducked as Uldred swiped at her, taking the opportunity to shove her dagger into his ribs. Leliana slashed with her blades, cutting through layers of muscle to reveal the gleaming bone beneath.

A ferocious yell split the air as Alistair sprinted toward Uldred. Lyra and Leliana fell back as their fellow leapt, his longsword driving into Uldred's throat. The blade carved a sanguine path through the monster's jugular. A sick burbling came from the massive neck, and the demon toppled, carrying Alistair with him. Lyra and Leliana dove away, the former tumbling into a heap, the latter rolling neatly and springing up again.

Gore flew as the Warden wrenched his sword from Uldred's neck and plunged it in again, giving it a final, lethal twist. The great muscles twitched once, twice... then all was still.

Alistair straightened his body as he yanked his sword out of the demon's neck, then leaped lightly back off of the carcass. Lyra ran toward him, ecstatic with relief. A grin lit Alistair's face as he sheathed his sword, his arms opening to sweep Lyra up into a joyful embrace.

"We're alive!" Lyra threw her head back and laughed as he spun her around.

"Of course we are!" Alistair's answering laugh filled her with happiness as he set her down again. "Did you ever doubt it?"

"Well, there was a moment…" she said, then returned his jubilant grin. "No, I never doubted it."

Alistair's arms were the most delicious place in the world, and Lyra nestled within them. He hugged her close, and she clung to him unabashedly.

Her moment of peace was brief, however, as she suddenly remembered why they were here, and pulled away. "We're alive... and so is the First Enchanter!" she said, and hurried over to see to the mage's welfare. Leliana and Wynne had beaten her to it, and Wynne was already kneeling over him with her eyes closed, threading tendrils of white-gold light into the First Enchanter's body.

Leliana smiled at Lyra as she knelt near the recovering enchanter. "How are you?" Leliana whispered to her.

Lyra blinked at her in surprise. "Fine... how are you?" she asked, slightly puzzled.

"I mean, _how_ are you?" Leliana nudged her shoulder. She looked meaningfully at Alistair. Lyra's mouth formed a silent 'O' of understanding. "I think I'm fine... I think _we're_ fine," she murmured, and Leliana grinned in triumph.

Irving forced himself to his feet, groaning in pain. Wynne urged him to rest, but he shook her off. "I will live, Wynne. Go see to the others," he ordered.

Lyra held out her hand. "First Enchanter Irving, it is an honor. I am Lyra, and my friends are Alistair and Leliana." Irving took her hand, his grasp firm despite the trials he'd just undergone. "Are you recovered enough to walk? We should take you to see Ser Greagoir."

"Yes... I believe so. You may need to help me down the stairs, however," Irving said, his mouth slanting in annoyance. "Whatever fool decided the mages should live in a tower should be taken out and beaten." Then he registered the rest of what Lyra had said. "Greagoir… yes, I must speak with him. He will want to hear the whole story."

Lyra saw no point in bringing up the Right of Annulment. Ser Greagoir would tell Irving or not as he chose, or Wynne would. The important thing now was to help Irving down to see Greagoir as soon as possible, and get fresh food and water to the mages who'd been trapped for days. There was a very busy half hour spent in untying everyone, offering them sips of water, and allowing Wynne to siphon energy from their reserves as she brought the most seriously wounded back from the brink of death. When everyone was ready, they began the journey down the stairs.

.oOo.

"Irving, I - I cannot believe it." Ser Greagoir's voice was filled with amazed relief.

"Believe it, Greagoir. I am alive," Irving said firmly. "The man responsible for the uprising has been put down. The Circle is safe once more."

The surviving mages had been left in the first floor gathering chamber, where Petra and the others were now assisting them.

Greagoir turned to the Wardens. "Is that true?"

Lyra gave a nod. "Uldred is dead. Everything else in the tower that was possessed has been killed. Take your men to see – you will find no evil. "

"No! You must kill them! Now!" Ser Cullen's eyes darted between them. Lyra and Alistair had found him huddled on the floor outside the Harrowing chamber, the cage of light evaporated. After much cajoling, the templar had agreed to follow them, his suspicious eyes glued to the mages. "They could be abominations. They could turn at any moment! The only way to be sure is to kill each and every mage!" Cullen said, his voice panicked.

Greagoir frowned at the young templar. "Cullen, I understand you have been through an ordeal, but this behavior is unseemly. We are not murderers – it is our duty to protect the mages."

"No one ever listens! Not until it's too late!" Cullen raved.

Greagoir motioned to another templar, who scurried forward to lead Cullen away. "He will need mind healing, after what has happened," Greagoir said. "I apologize for the scene he has caused. I will accept the word of the Wardens. Frankly, young lady, I did not expect to see you alive again, but I am glad to be proven wrong. Excuse me, Warden Lyra, Warden Alistair. Lady Leliana. Irving." He turned and strode away, likely to arrange a patrol of the tower.

Wynne had been seeing to her younger charges, making sure Petra had cared for them well in her absence, and now she came to join them.

Lyra spoke up. "First Enchanter, I must confess. We did not come here knowing the Circle needed our help. We came for two reasons… one, because we wished to obtain the help of the mages against the Blight-"

"Of course, Warden. I remember the treaties. The mages shall be there when you have need of us... although, in our current state I am afraid we would not be of any great help," Irving said, "It will take a few months to rebuild. And of course, there are fewer of us, now."

"I am glad to have your support, First Enchanter," Lyra said. "And the other reason we came is because there is a little boy in Redcliffe…." She outlined the situation as quickly as she could. Alistair fished Teagan's letter from his pouch and handed it over for the mage's perusal.

Irving was nodding even before she finished. "Yes. It will take lyrium, and several mages, but I think we can help you. We will travel to Redcliffe as soon as we are able – I think it will be about two days' time."

Lyra clasped his hand, gratitude shining on her face. "_Thank you_, First Enchanter. You have our gratitude!"

Irving chuckled, his eyes warm. "As you have mine, my dear. Without your help, the Circle would be no more. It is the least I can do to thank you. And now, if you'll excuse me, I will begin making the proper arrangements." He turned and strode off, seeming a little stronger than he had before.

Wynne smiled at Lyra. "I must thank you, as well. You came to our rescue when no one else would. I will see you in Redcliffe, my dear... I wish to help with the child you spoke of." She drew Lyra into her arms for a hug.

Lyra blinked back the rush of tears that threatened. It was so like being held by her mother. She swallowed the lump that grew in her throat, and squeezed the older woman tightly. "Thank you, Wynne. We'll see you in a few days," she whispered as she drew back. The mage gave her a fond look, then returned to Irving's side.

"Breakfast?" Alistair suggested.

"Yes, please," Leliana chimed.

"Wait. Are the demons all dead?" Lyra asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Alistair grinned at her, and they crossed through the tower's oaken doors into the morning sunshine.


	19. The Bard's Tale

**Chapter 17  
>The Bard's Tale<strong>

"Leliana," Alistair asked as they hiked up the hill to the Spoiled Princess Inn. "How did you know what time it was? Back in the tower?"

Leliana raked one hand through her tangled locks, her hair gleaming with fiery highlights in the morning sunlight. She drew a deep breath and blew it out slowly. Lyra kept her steps quiet, focused on listening. Glad she was that Alistair could ask simple, straightforward questions like that; she always felt a bit awkward bringing up the personal things she was curious about.

"There is a tale attached to that. A long one - one that is perhaps better suited to a campfire in the middle of the woods," Leliana began.

"Is it a scary story? Were you enchanted by a witch to always know what time it is, accurate to the minute?" Alistair teased.

Leliana chuckled. "No, it is not a scary story... well, not with ghosts or witches. But as I said, it is a long one. I will tell it to you later, I promise - perhaps as we travel. But the short answer is that before I came to Ferelden, I had to become extremely aware of the passage of time. My life sometimes depended on me knowing how many minutes had passed. So, I became expert at it." Leliana shrugged. "Either of you could do it, if you tried. Although it did take me a few years to perfect the skill."

"What time is it now?" Alistair asked.

"Half past eight. Give or take. I'm a bit out of practice."

"It's at least twelve hours since we arrived and had that fantastic dinner," Lyra said. "Let's see if they have fresh eggs!" She pushed the door open, and they piled eagerly into the inn.

The innkeep looked up in surprise. "You return! Good morning! I have your things here, ready to go." He gestured to a pair of cloth sacks resting near the door. "I wondered if you meant to come back after all."

"I'm sorry, we were unavoidably detained. But thank you, we will take them now," Leliana told him.

They inquired about breakfast. The clink of coins brought the promise of plenty of food, and they sat down to wait.

"No stealing my ale this time," Alistair warned. "I'm very, very thirsty."

"I don't want your old ale," Lyra scoffed. "I'm having mead."

"Lush," Alistair returned in a vibrant whisper.

Something about the way he said it spiraled Lyra into giggles. His pleased smile was so infectious, she couldn't help the laughter that bubbled forth.

"Lyra," he whispered a moment later as she calmed herself with a deep breath. "You're causing a scene..." His eyes widened, mock embarrassment contorting his face.

Unable to stop herself, Lyra dissolved into hilarity again. She laid her head in her arms upon the table as she shook with mirth, pressing her lips together in an attempt to regain control of herself.

"They're staring, Lyra. Everyone is _staring at you! _Maker's frilly panties!"

A snort clawed its way from her throat as tears of hysteria gathered. It wasn't even that funny - was she just exhausted past the point of reason? At this point, it seemed likely. She was pushing into her second day of wakefulness following the hardest battle of her life. Who wouldn't be giddy?

The clinking of cups against wood calmed her, the sound of the innkeep bringing their drinks. She sat up, mumbling a thank you as she resisted the urge to smooth her hair. Alistair winked as he handed her the tumbler. Lyra narrowed her eyes at him, glaring mock daggers.

"Leliana." Alistair shifted his attention to the pretty redhead. "Lyra will tell me not to ask, but I have to. _Who _was that woman?"

Beneath the table, Lyra knocked him with the side of her leg. He responded by grabbing her knee and squeezing it, and Lyra yelped, sloshing her drink. Alistair's eyes opened wide in an absurd stare, and she resisted the urge to begin beating him over the head. How could one person be so charming and so annoying at the same time?

Leliana's eyes lingered on the two of them. The sister did not answer immediately, but her coy smile spoke volumes. Heat pooled in Lyra's cheeks, and she lifted the cup to her lips, hoping the alcohol wouldn't knock her for a loop. She was already slap-happy.

"That _woman_ is part of the long tale, loves. I will tell you on the road. I promise," Leliana said.

Alistair groaned. "Fine. Leave me panting for information. I've never seen a girl kiss another girl, you know. They kept us pretty sinless in the Chantry, despite our best attempts to be otherwise." He wiggled his eyebrows.

Lyra leaned forward, determined to get him back. "So, Alistair. If you were raised in the Chantry, does that mean you've never..." She lowered her chin and looked at him suggestively.

"Never... never what? Had a good pair of shoes?" He lifted his cup to take a sip.

Lyra cocked an eyebrow, unwilling to let him avoid the topic so easily. If she was going to get him to blush, this seemed like a sure thing. "You know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I do." Alistair blinked at her, his eyes wide and angelic. "Have I never... seen a basilisk? Ate jellied ham?"

"No..." Lyra drawled. Her heart picked up as she leaned in, hoping to rattle him. "Something a bit more... lascivious." Her lips lingered over the words, and by the way Leliana chuckled it seemed she'd found her target.

"Oh, so that's what we're talking about," Alistair exclaimed, heedless of the patrons surrounding them. Lyra's alarmed gaze swept the inn, her enjoyment of their private game turning to dread as intrigued eyes swung their way. "What you're asking is, have I never licked a lamppost in winter?" He drew the L's out, turning the potential innocence of the phrase into something far, far more sexual.

Lyra's cheeks flamed. Heads of the other patrons turned to stare at them with avid interest, even as Leliana's eyes glittered. Alistair's eyebrows jumped once, and his pleased expression telegraphed how easily he'd turned the tables on her botched attempt to embarrass him.

Dragging her teeth over her lower lip, she opened her mouth, then shut it, her eyes canting to the side. There had to be some way she could respond...

Leliana snickered.

At a loss, Lyra scowled at him. "Now you're just making fun of me," she complained.

"Make fun of you, dear lady, perish the thought!" Alistair cried. He whisked Lyra's hand into his own and kissed it. "But tell me..." he said, and pressed his lips to her wrist, "...have _you_..." his mouth grazed the inside of her arm, "...ever licked a lamppost in winter?" he asked, drawing out the words even more.

Gooseflesh rose at the feel of Alistair's lips on her skin. Her cheeks blazed ever hotter, and as he leaned in to kiss the crease of her elbow, Lyra yanked her arm away. The cat's grin on Leliana's face wasn't helping any. "No!" she hissed, mortified. "For goodness' sake, you make that sound so... so..."

Leliana bit back a mirthful noise.

"You haven't?" Alistair crossed his arms and smirked triumphantly at her. She glared at him, but he raised his eyebrows when she didn't answer right away. "Don't keep us in suspense, we're dying to know!" Alistair said breathlessly. Leliana played along, folding her arms and leaning forward on them. From the enthralled look on her face, one would think nothing had ever been more interesting than Lyra's virtue.

"You two are impossible," Lyra muttered, giving up. "No, I have never licked a lamppost in winter," she admitted in a low, exasperated voice.

"Good, because I hear it's quite painful," Alistair said, every trace of humor gone. "One of the initiates did it on a dare. There was pointing and laughing... oh, the humanity!" he said melodramatically.

Leliana's mouth quirked. "I've licked my share of lampposts, and then some," she remarked in a nonchalant voice.

Alistair made a snorting noise in the back of his throat and buried his head in his arms, quivering with silent laughter. "I think I'm tired," he said at last in a muffled voice. Lyra's annoyance ebbed as she dissolved into laughter, and she leaned her forehead onto his back, letting her aching eyes close. "Did we just stay up all night battling abominations? Or did I imagine that?" Alistair's voice continued.

"I'm beat. Should we stay here for the day, or camp on the road?" Lyra asked, enjoying the view of the insides of her eyelids.

A moment of silence. When neither answered, Lyra opened her eyes and sat up. Alistair didn't move, and she wondered if he'd passed out. Leliana was fully awake, however, her eyes seeming troubled as she scanned the inn. She met Lyra's questioning look and said, "After breakfast, let's go."

Lyra opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but the innkeep began bringing over dishes piled high with eggs, ham and potatoes. Alistair reanimated with the appearance of the food, and there was no more talk for a time.

.oOo.

"To answer your question, no. I've never done... it._ That._ Not that I haven't thought about it, of course... but... you know." Alistair gave her a smile, hoping he looked flirtatious instead of self-conscious.

Lyra's blue eyes were measuring. She strolled at his side, the inn already a mile or more behind them. After breakfast, Leliana had urged them to be on their way, and she'd pushed them at a good pace for several minutes, advising them to keep their weapons close. But when nothing had happened, she'd relaxed, and was now walking ahead of them just out of earshot.

A few brave flowers at the edge of the path had opened to the sun's caress. Alistair plucked a yellow blossom, then offered it to Lyra. She unstrapped her helmet and tucked it behind her ear. "Thank you, ser," she smiled.

He gave her a gallant bow, delighting in her responding mock curtsey.

"Never got the opportunity?" Lyra asked, returning them to their original conversation.

"Well, yes, but it's not just that," Alistair began. He was a touch surprised at how comfortable it felt to discuss this with her. It was a personal topic to broach, but not only was she _not_ judging him for his virginity, she seemed fine with talking about it, now that he wasn't making her blush. "I never met anyone I wanted to... do that with," he continued. "It's supposed to be special, you know? Not something you just _do_. Though Leliana seems to have done more than her fair share," he commented.

Lyra's mouth twitched as she rolled her eyes in agreement.

"Besides," Alistair went on. "The sisters in the Chantry taught me to be a gentleman. Especially in the presence of beautiful ladies such as yourself."

Lyra's eyes flickered downward, her cheeks going pink. A thrill coursed through him, knowing he was the one to inspire her reaction. He'd been a wreck around women all his life, but something about Lyra brought out his confidence.

"That's not so bad, is it?" Alistair bent at the waist to to try and catch her eye.

"You think I'm beautiful?" she asked apprehensively, her forget-me-not eyes colliding with his.

.oOo.

Oriana was beautiful. Leliana and Morrigan were beautiful. _But me?_

She'd grown up one of the boys, fighting, wrestling, running and jumping. Her mother had taught her basic sewing, enough to keep her clothing mended, and she'd learned camp cooking from her father. But that was the end of her feminine skillset. The only thing she truly liked about her appearance was her hair, and she kept it braided most of the time to keep it out of the way.

The trouble with beauty was it was all about luck. Some women had it, others didn't. All females craved that particular compliment, but until now, it had never really mattered to Lyra. There were plenty of other ways of proving herself, and she _had_. She'd won tournaments, bested men twice her size in tactics and skill of arms. Her tutors had praised her quick mind, her brother grousing every time she trounced him at games of strategy.

But beauty?

Her family had told her so. They were the only ones, however, and Lyra hadn't been willing to believe the people who were obligated to love her. From an early age, she'd worked hard not to care, scorning such behavior as 'too girly'.

Even Rory had never told her she was beautiful. Though it had bothered her at first, eventually it became something she'd appreciated about him. He'd seen her as a whole person, worthy for more than just her face and figure. Surely that was better. It was only the stuffed-shirt nobles who'd attempted to court her who had spouted such inanities, as though pretty words would win her heart.

Now, though... Lyra awaited Alistair's answer with baited breath. Years of doubt hinged on his response, her secretly girlish heart hoping that by some miracle, she would be beautiful in his eyes.

"Of course you are, and you know it!" Alistair declared. "You're ravishing, resourceful, and all those other things you'd probably hurt me for not saying. I've seen you wield those daggers - I need to stay firmly on your _good_ side," he joked.

Lyra's heart picked up, his words filling her with happiness. "I would never hurt you," she said softly.

Just like that, the moment turned serious. Alistair reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. "Nor I you." He drew her close, his hand laying hers against his chest.

Lyra's heart fluttered, her mouth going dry as she stared into Alistair's eyes. The idea of intimacy, even something as innocent as this, had been beyond her ability to imagine. Something had blocked her... fear, perhaps. But now, she stopped thinking, stopped fearing, and fell into the moment.

Alistair glanced away, seeking Leliana. The redhead was continuing down the road, and seemed to be paying them no attention whatsoever. When he turned back to her, the tenderness in his gaze melted Lyra's heart.

.oOo.

Alistair had kissed a girl before - two, truth be told. But those moments hadn't felt quite so... _momentous_. What was it about Lyra that had him tied up in knots? Yet he'd never felt so clear, so convinced of anything. If there was a surety in the world, it was that Lyra Cousland was the one he wanted, had been the one he'd wanted for almost forever. How many years had he been dreaming of her, longing for her to dance back into his life and fill it with the light and laughter she'd given him as a youth?

_She's like a song I can't get out of my head, _he thought_. _So very precious, so rare and special. Just how had he gotten this lucky?

Curving one arm about her waist, Alistair urged her closer. Lyra stepped into him, her spellbound eyes never leaving his. Her free hand lifted, lissome fingers tracing his jawline.

Summoning his courage, he lowered his face to hers.

.oOo.

When their lips met, Lyra's heart began to sing.

Eyes drifted closed as her arm wound around his neck, her fingers caressing the warm skin just below his hairline. Alistair's nose brushed hers, the scent of his nearness weakening her knees. It was chaste, a brief touching of lips - but oh, so sweet and heart pounding. Even as simple as it was, it was almost too much - and yet over far too soon.

Alistair sighed as he pulled back to rest his forehead upon hers. "I've wanted to do that for awhile," he confessed quietly. "I almost did it yesterday, but the others came walking up and I lost the moment."

"I'm glad you did it now," she whispered.

A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes as he leaned in again to touch her lips with his.

_How could I have not wanted this?_ Lyra thought, losing herself to the magic of his kiss. _I belong here, in this moment, with Alistair._

.oOo.

The road passed away under their feet. Lyra thrilled to the quiet joy that came with holding Alistair's hand, his fingers wrapped around hers as she told him of growing up in Highever. Alistair talked of his templar training, and eventually some of his own childhood as well. Leliana continued to march ahead of them - either oblivious to what was going on, or simply choosing to give them space.

Lyra rather suspected it was the latter.

In the early afternoon, they stopped and set up a simple camp a short distance from the road. Leliana offered to keep watch, and so Lyra fell asleep facing Alistair in the soft grass, their fingers still intertwined.

The light had gone soft and golden when she awoke a few hours later, drowsy and aching from too little sleep and too much activity. Her movements woke Alistair, who seemed better off than she felt. He smiled at her, his movements natural and loose as he climbed to his feet, unlike her own stiff hobbling.

Leliana was drooping after her watch, and Lyra ordered her to rest. The redhead crawled into her bedroll without a word, falling asleep in moments.

Alistair dug food out of the bags, and they ate and drank and talked for awhile longer. Lyra thought she heard the sound of running water, and her ears led her to a small stream. She refilled their water skins, the heavy bags dripping as she lugged them back to camp. Alistair had cleared an area and gathered deadwood for a fire while she was gone, and was sparking up a blaze as she set the water skins nearby.

"I gotta tell you, I'm thinking of sticking my whole head in that creek. I hate when my hair feels like this." Lyra rubbed the base of her braids, grimacing at the itchy, heavy feel. She settled at his side, leaning back on her hands as she watched him coax the fire to life.

"Redcliffe's got bathtubs," he said in an absentminded voice. "You might even talk Valena into helping you wash your hair, if Isolde will let her."

"Mmm... you sold me." Lyra unpinned her braids and began to unravel them, deciding if she wasn't going to bathe, at least she could free her hair for a little while.

Alistair dropped the flint back in his pouch, his eyes skirting toward her. "Want help?"

Lyra's mouth quirked. "Kind of a one-woman job."

"Spoilsport." Alistair knelt at her back, his fingers weaving into her hair. "Just relax."

Crossing her legs, Lyra tilted her head back, her eyes closing as Alistair finger-combed the long waves. There was a sensual pleasure in Alistair's touch. Tingles shivered through her every time his fingers slid over her scalp. It had been years since anyone but herself or one of Highever's maids had combed her hair, and not since she was a little girl had anyone played with it.

It would be easy to fall asleep under his caress, but after a time, Lyra eased herself away and moved behind him. "Your turn," she grinned.

"I don't have quite the mane that you do," Alistair said dubiously.

"And?" Lyra stroked her thumbs along the base of his neck, her fingernails raking his scalp.

"Ohhhh... Maker," Alistair shuddered, his voice cracking. "Why does that feel so _good_?"

Lyra giggled. The sounds he made were obscene.

"That is positively indecent," Alistair groaned, his head dropping back. "I'm your slave. Say the word, and I'll do it."

"What's indecent?" Leliana sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes.

"Leli, you've only been asleep an hour or so," Lyra protested. "You don't have to wake up yet."

"I'm alright, love." The redhead gave her a sleepy smile, stretching her arms over her head. "You know, we should really see about fortifying this camp. I don't know about the two of you, but I'm dead on my feet. We should stay here tonight and finish our journey tomorrow. The mages won't be along for another few days, so what's the hurry?"

"One second..." Alistair mumbled. "Lyra's turning me into a quivering pile of helpless."

Leliana threw back her bedroll, her eyes sparkling as she clambered to her feet. From her spot behind him, Lyra wrapped her arms around Alistair's neck and planted a kiss on his cheek. How wonderful it was to be able to do such a thing. "More later?"

"Bet on it," he grinned at her.

The three of them set about making the camp more comfortable. Leliana circled the area, setting out traps so they could all sleep without interruption. Alistair gathered stones to surround their fire, and Lyra collected more wood and set out cooking utensils. Then she helped Leliana slice bread, cheese and apples for their dinner.

Alistair found two forked willow branches and cleaned them of leaves and bark to use as tongs for a cheese and apple sandwich, which he held over the fire. He seemed rather expert at it. Lyra watched, charmed at this new idea. When he deemed it ready, he handed it to her.

Lyra's stomach growled as she sank her teeth into it. It was _delicious_. "I thought you said charred rabbit?" she spoke through a full mouth.

"Well, charred rabbit and cheese sandwiches. That's about my limit," he said, holding a second sandwich over the fire. Leliana nibbled delicately at an apple slice.

"So I want to hear your story, Leliana," Alistair said, turning his sandwich carefully. "Tell us all about the woman from your past."

Leliana smiled as she curled into a ball, leaning her elbows on her upraised knees. "It is a long story, my friends, but I will try to keep it as brief as possible."

Lyra wiped the corner of her mouth as she swallowed. "We're listening."

Leliana twirled the apple in her deft fingers. "My mother was handmaiden to an Orlesian noblewoman named Lady Cecilie. I was born in Orlais, but my mother was a Fereldan. She died when I was still quite small. Lady Cecilie was fond of me, though, and kept me on, sending me to school and paying for singing and dancing lessons. I think she must have loved my mother very much to keep such a bothersome little girl. She seemed to enjoy me, though, and I often entertained her friends at social gatherings.

"When I was fifteen, Lady Cecilie passed away. She was old when I was born, and it was simply her time to go. She left me a little money, but I had to take care of myself, as well. I could play the lute and dance and sing, so I found a job in an ale house, performing for the patrons. They seemed to like me, and I made good coin. I was able to save up a fair amount, and I'd hoped to buy a share in the inn after a few more years. It would have been a good life... simple, but good.

"A year passed in this way. One night while I sang, a woman in the crowd caught my eye. She was... well, you saw her. She was Marjolaine."

Alistair pulled his sandwich off the fire and tested it gingerly. He offered it to Leliana, but she shook her head, sinking her teeth into her apple slice. Alistair tore off a _huge_ bite of sandwich, and Lyra began to slice more bread.

"Go on," Alistair mumbled through a mouthful of melted cheese. "What happened next?"

"We started to talk, and she came to the inn for three nights in a row to hear me sing. On the third night, she invited me back to her home, and I went," Leliana said simply.

Alistair nudged Lyra's shoulder, and she elbowed him in the ribs.

Leliana's mouth twitched at their reactions. "The next morning, Marjolaine told me I was better than a simple tavern girl. She offered me a small job... nothing fancy. And I took it, and I did it - fast and well."

"A job?" Lyra asked. She had built another cheese sandwich, and was trying to duplicate Alistair's tongs-made-of-sticks trick. The bread nearly tumbled into the fire, and Alistair rescued the assembly from her with a grin. "Fine, you can cook. Do you want another?" At his nod, she began preparing one for him.

"Yes... a job," Leliana went on. "She told me there would be a certain man in the tavern that day, and she wanted me to slip something into his bag. So I did."

"Leliana," Lyra said slowly as something occurred to her. "In Orlais... were you a spy?"

"I knew you would figure it out eventually,_ mon ami_," Leliana smiled. "Yes, indeed. But not just a spy - I was what is called a Bard. Bards are much sought after for their musical and storytelling skills, but they are also spies, and sometimes assassins."

"You? A cold-blooded killer?" Alistair raised an eyebrow. "But you're so small and sweet. I would never think it." He passed Lyra her sandwich and began toasting his own.

"Most of my victims didn't think it, either," Leliana laughed. "It's what made me so effective. Marjolaine taught me everything; how to count the hours of the night, how to slip up behind a man and slit his throat, how to dodge a blade as it flew through the air. And she taught me the art of love, as well... we were together for seven years," she said quietly. The fire popped in the silence, hissing as it settled its embers.

"Toward the end, I began to suspect Marjolaine of cheating on me. She was secretive, and I caught her writing notes that she would not let me see. One night, she sent me to kill a man and remove a set of documents from his body. I did not know this man, and I did as she bade. Something told me to look at those documents. They were sealed, but..."

"But you opened them anyway," Lyra guessed.

Leliana nodded. "I did. The papers named Marjolaine a traitor to Orlais, listing deals she had struck with Antiva. I was terrified for her. She would have been hunted and killed for certain if these things were discovered. I brought her the contracts as I was bade and told her of my fears. She scoffed at me and told me I had nothing to worry about, and I believed her... until the chevaliers arrived to arrest me."

"To arrest _you?" _Lyra asked, perplexed. "But Marjolaine..." She trailed off, stunned by the sudden realization of what had happened.

"Exactly," Leliana said quietly. "I was taken to a basement somewhere beneath Val Royeaux and tortured. They showed me the papers, altered by her hand, to name _me _traitor." Faint lines creased Leliana's forehead, her teeth raking over her bottom lip. "My heart broke that night. Knowing Marjolaine would sell me out hurt more than the hot knives they pressed into my flesh."

She was silent for a time, her pensive eyes staring into the flames. Lyra didn't know what to say, how to feel. _What a terrible thing to go through._ She caught Alistair's eye... he looked as stricken as she felt. The Chantry sister was hardly the whimsical flower she appeared to be.

"I escaped after a few days. My guards became lax, and I used the knowledge I had gained under Marjolaine's tutelage to slip my bonds and slit their throats. I ran to Ferelden, remembering stories my mother had told me about the country. It had always seemed like a sort of second home to me. Eventually, I wandered to Lothering, and found my peace in the Chantry. I was there for three years," Leliana said quietly.

"Wow," Alistair said. "I still can't believe you were an _assassin._ That's incredibly... well, _incredible_."

"And now you know why I can tell you what time it is, no matter when," Leliana smiled. She stood, stretching like a cat. "I'm going to bed, loves... I'll just go wash my face first. Call me if you need anything." Leliana strolled away toward the stream. Her soft footfalls faded away into nothingness, leaving the two of them alone at the fire.

"What a story," Lyra said, her mind full of the bard's tale. "Poor Leliana."

"She's strong, that's for sure." Alistair picked up a stick and tossed it into the fire.

Lyra brushed crumbs from her hands. "Are you tired enough for bed?"

For answer, Alistair yawned loudly, stretching his arms out and 'accidentally' landing one of them around Lyra's shoulder.

"Oh, is that a fact?" She turned to him with a grin.

"It is a fact, and you know it." The other hand rose to glide over her cheek as he leaned in to kiss her.

Lyra melted into him. She'd been longing for a repeat of their earlier moment all day, and now she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He gave a contented sigh, his fingers threading her hair as his lips parted. Goosebumps rose on her skin, the simplicity of the movement easing her apprehension. She met him eagerly, their tongues twining in a slow dance of building need.

Lyra warmed under his touch, savoring the fire that simmered beneath her skin. A brief thought of Rory flashed through her mind. Had Highever's knight ever heated her blood in this way? A pang of guilt washed over her as she realized that not only was she unsure of the answer, but she hardly cared at the moment.

Alistair's arm dipped down to circle her waist, easing her closer. His nose brushed over hers as he tilted his head, deepening their kiss. Lyra drew her fingernails through his close-cropped hair, enjoying when he shuddered and briefly lifted his head.

"No fair," he complained as he slanted in again to circle her nose with his. "You know my weakness."

"Yup," she murmured against his mouth, sighing when he claimed her lips again. How easy it was to get lost in him. How silly she'd been for fearing this.

The minutes slipped away, and eventually Lyra drew back, touching her forehead to his. "We should change."

"Mmm... more kisses." Alistair closed the distance between them. Lyra giggled as he coiled strong arms around her, meshing their bodies as closely as possible considering their armor.

In seconds, it became clear how silly such an attempt really was.

"We should _change_," Lyra pointed out again, mirth coloring her voice. "This isn't working."

"Yeah... who'da thunk. Splintmail, you've failed me." Alistair sighed.

"That splintmail has saved your life, I'm sure."

"It's doing nothing for me right now, though."

Lyra giggled as Alistair pushed himself up and headed down to the stream to wash. Once Lyra had stripped herself from her armor and changed into her spare tunic, she gathered her laundry while waiting for Alistair to return from the stream.

"Give me your socks," she commanded him when he reappeared. "I'll wash them with my things."

He grinned as he handed them over. "I could get used to this, you know."

"Yeah? It'll be your turn next time," she told him as she padded to the small waterway.

It didn't take long to rinse everything, including Alistair's handkerchief, which looked like a used rag from a butcher's shop. Once they got back to Redcliffe, Lyra vowed to herself that she'd wash everything again - this time with soap.

The sun had gone down by the time she returned to find Alistair in the simple linens he wore beneath his armor. Neither of them possessed much in the way of casual clothing; only practical things worn under leather and plate. But simply knowing she'd be able to _touch_ him gave Lyra a thrill.

"Hi," she said shyly.

"Hey," he smiled. "Let me do some of that." He took pieces of the damp clothing from her arms and helped her spread it over a handy tree branch. Once that was done, they cleaned up the remnants of dinner, wrapping the food and putting everything away. Leliana had tucked herself into her bedroll and was fast asleep.

They settled down by the fire again. Alistair put his arm around her, and she snuggled close, putting one hand on his chest and leaning her head against his shoulder. Alistair picked up a long stick and poked it idly into the embers. "Do you suppose those traps of Leliana's are trustworthy?" he asked. "It would be good if we could both sleep tonight."

"I think so. Besides which, won't the Warden sense tell you if any Darkspawn are nearby?"

"That's true, but Warden sense won't warn me about highwaymen."

"We'd wake up before they killed us," Lyra said. "Besides, we've got nothing worth stealing."

"True," Alistair chuckled. "All right, but if we wake up dead, I'll haunt you for the rest of your existence."

"Fair enough." Lyra stretched upward to kiss his cheek. "Tell me about the Grey Wardens. What was it like, having the chance to be with so many of them?"

"It was great actually. Most of the time, it was like a big family," Alistair said. "Everyone had gone through the Joining, so we had that in common. Even if that was _all_ we had in common, it was enough. Everyone just... belonged.

"There was one Warden, and I'll never forget him. His name was Gregor, I think, or maybe it was Griegor, I dunno. He was from the Anderfels, and he had the biggest, fuzziest beard I have ever seen. And the man could drink! He drank and drank, but the funniest part was, he never got drunk. One day, we all decided to see exactly how much it would take to put him under the table, and he said he would drink a whole pint for every half pint we drank. When Duncan arrived in the hall, every one of us had passed out cold on the floor, and Gregor was _still _sitting there, drinking. He told me later he laughed until he... until..." Alistair's voice faded with the realization of what he was saying. His arm tightened around her shoulders.

"He was a good man, Alistair," Lyra said quietly. She slipped her hand into his.

"Yes, he was a good man," Alistair said. "The best of us." He was silent for a time. "He told me he'd started having the dreams again. Like the ones you've had. They don't last forever, but when they return it means your Calling has arrived. That's when your time is almost up. Most Wardens head into the Deep Roads, to kill as many Darkspawn as they can before they're overwhelmed. Go out fighting, as it were."

Lyra wasn't sure what to say.

"I wish it could have ended differently for him," he continued after a moment. "I mean, I don't even have a memento, or anything to remember him by."

"You have your memories," Lyra said.

"True. But... I've always liked tokens. Something physical to remind you of someone. I used to have this locket that belonged to my mother, but I lost it when I was a kid. Well, no, that's not exactly true... The truth is, I flung it against the wall in a moment of anger. It was when Arl Eamon told me I'd be leaving for the Denerim Chantry. I was so upset. The locket shattered. I suppose it was swept up by the servants the next day, and put out with the other rubbish." A note of pain marred Alistair's voice.

Lyra's breath caught as she recalled the box in the study at Redcliffe. "Not necessarily..." She told him about finding the repaired locket.

"Eamon saved it?" Alistair's brow furrowed in disbelief. "I... I never would have thought that of him. I was so angry. He tried to visit me a few times, but I refused to see him. I wonder if he wanted to give it back to me... And now he's so ill. What are we going to do, Lyra?"

"I don't know." She sighed. There were so many problems to contend with. "But don't worry about it tonight. There isn't anything we _can_ do right now except get to Redcliffe. We'll decide where to go from there. There's always the Urn of Sacred Ashes."

"Right, the legend. And Brother Genitivi is in Denerim. Maybe he _does_ have useful information," Alistair said thoughtfully.

The fire took another few hours to die down to embers. Though Lyra would have liked nothing more than to stay up all night with Alistair, it wasn't long before both of them crawled into their bedrolls and fell asleep, their hands stretched across the short distance to hold onto each other.


	20. The Poisoned Arrow

**Chapter 18  
>The Poisoned Arrow<strong>

Lyra opened her eyes to find Alistair's face close to her own. Apparently, he'd rolled toward her during the night. Mesmerized, she watched him breathing, his expression so innocent in slumber. It seemed impossible, but he was even better looking like this. Pale sunlight filtered through the tree cover, although this early in the morning, their camp remained in shadow. Maker, it was _cold! _She huddled down into her blankets, hoarding what little body heat she could.

Alistair's eyes drifted open, a sleepy smile brightening his face when he saw her just inches away. "I must still be dreaming," he murmured. "You're way too close for this to be real."

"Are you as cold as I am?" she whispered.

"No, I'm toasty. Why, are you cold?" He blinked, waking up a bit more. "Come here," he invited, lifting one corner of his bedroll.

Lyra didn't hesitate. Shoving her own paltry blanket back, she clambered in with him, shivering as she did so. Blessed Maker, he _was_ warm, and she pressed her cold toes against the tops of his feet.

He yelped. "You need a warmer blanket, woman!" His arms wrapped around her, and he kissed the top of her head as she snuggled into him.

"Or I could just share with you," she joked.

"Really. You wouldn't mind sharing blankets with a lowly Warden, Lady Cousland?"

Lyra scoffed. "Look who's talking, _Prince_ Alistair. Maybe it's me who's not worth sharing blankets with!"

"Nonsense. I'm a commoner. You're the noble here. If I were a gold-digger, I'd say I had struck it rich!" He rubbed her back gently. "I hope you appreciate what a difficult position you're putting me in here. You're lucky I'm such a nice guy, or you'd have been history the second you climbed in with me."

"I'm game. Off with the armor!" she said with a mischievous grin.

He gave a nervous chuckle as he squeezed her more tightly. "Ha-ha! Bluff called. Damn, she saw right through me," Alistair muttered.

Lyra giggled. It had been a fairly safe bet on her part. Despite the opportunities they'd had alone together the previous evening, Alistair had done little more than kiss her. Hands hadn't wandered beyond waists, shoulders and faces, and being 'in bed' with him now was the biggest step either of them had taken. If there was one thing Alistair was, it was a'nice guy'; it was one of the things Lyra liked best about him.

"Don't worry, your virtue is safe. I won't corrupt your innocence," she reassured him.

Alistair's fingers delved into her sides. She bowed over, writhing in protest as he tickled her, gasping laughter falling from her lips amidst pleas for him to stop. He laughed, curving his arms around her again and tucking her head against his shoulder. Lyra cuddled in close, savoring the shared warmth and closeness.

"So... back to Redcliffe today," he whispered.

She nodded. Her fingers skimmed his chest, the hard musculature beneath his shirt delicious to her touch. Alistair's fingers traced lines up and down her back. It was tempting to press her lips to his neck, but she wasn't sure she dared.

"There'll be talk, you know. About us," he continued. "Morrigan is going to be a harpy. She was terrorizing me about Grey Wardens fraternizing."

"You really don't like her, do you?"

"You mean other than the fact that she's a complete and utter bitch? No, I don't like her at all," Alistair said absently.

"You don't need to like her. In fact, I prefer it that way," Lyra said. "She's too beautiful. And that outfit she wears. How does any man keep his wits around her?"

"Easy. Just look into her eyes and see the absolute lack of a soul," Alistair commented. "I much prefer you to her. You're real."

"So is she," Lyra laughed.

"Not really. She's... artificial. She's got an attitude the size of the sky, and you can just tell whenever she opens her mouth that she's really saying 'Look at me, everyone. I've never had a real friend.' What is that stuff she wears on her face, anyway?"

"The kohl on her eyes?" Lyra asked. "She _does_ use a lot of it... and I think she has a colored balm she uses on her lips. It's a nice effect, I think, if a little much. It gives her personality."

"Sure. It says, 'I'm super evil. I'll swoop down out of the sky and save you from a tower, but only if you promise me your firstborn child!'" Alistair cackled.

Lyra shook with laughter. "Yes... swooping _is_ bad."

"As I said, I prefer you," he said. His lips grazed her cheek. Lyra closed her eyes as he dropped soft kisses on her forehead and her cheeks, ending with a sweet touch on her lips. She held perfectly still, thrilling to the morning breeze that played over their faces, loving the feel of his strong arms wrapped around her.

"I don't have very much experience with women," he admitted quietly. Lyra opened her eyes. "I hope I'm not doing too much, or moving too fast," he continued. "You'll tell me, won't you, if I do anything you don't like?"

"Of course," she said, though she didn't imagine there was much he could do that she wouldn't like. "I don't have much experience, either. Ser Gilmore and I kissed once, but other than that I'm practically an old maid."

"Ser Gilmore, eh?" Alistair asked, his tone suggestive.

Lyra blushed, remembering her friend. "Yes... he's very possibly dead now," she said quietly. "Defending Highever from Howe's men."

Alistair drew her closer. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

She nodded, closing her eyes as tears brimmed. Whatever had happened to Rory, it was over now, and chances were good that he was gone from this world. Cruel as that logic might sound, Lyra couldn't linger in the past forever, and she wasn't about to let sadness mar this beautiful, private morning.

"Are you two awake already?" Leliana's sleepy voice questioned behind them.

Lyra untangled herself from Alistair's arms, brushing away a furtive tear as she sat up on her elbow to look back at the redhead.

"I'm still so tired," Leliana yawned as she scrubbed her fists over her eyes. "That night in the tower... I need another full night of sleep to get over that. I got spoiled in the Chantry. We went to bed every night two hours after sundown." She opened her eyes more fully then, spotting Lyra and Alistair occupying the same bedroll. Her eyes widened, and she gave a mischievous smile. "My! Lady Cousland... how shocking!"

"I was cold," Lyra said indignantly.

"Oh, I believe you," Leliana said. She stood and stretched, her blankets pooling at her feet. "Besides, it isn't any of my business _what_ you do, so long as it doesn't disrupt my sleep. Which it didn't, no matter what _it _was." She straightened her tunic, and padded off toward the creek. "Be back in a few moments," she called over her shoulder.

Lyra turned back to Alistair with a grin. "I like Leliana."

"I do, too," Alistair said. He leaned in to kiss her once, then climbed out of the bedroll and pulled his boots onto his feet. With a regretful sigh, Lyra got up as well, glad that the summer months were on their way. Tempting as it was to share blankets with Alistair in the name of warmth, such flimsy bedrolls would do neither of them much good come winter. The clothing she had now was fine, but if their travels took more than a few months then both of them would need warmer gear.

They had a large, leisurely breakfast. Leliana dismantled the traps she had set the night before, collecting the acid flasks and tripwires she had assembled so carefully, and stowing everything in a leather bag. Alistair stirred dirt into the firepit, and Lyra made a few sandwiches that could be eaten easily while traveling.

They made good time even at a walking pace, conversing happily the whole way. Alistair teased Leliana about her past, and Leliana returned jibe for jibe until Alistair was blushing and Lyra was nearly bent double with hysterical laughter. The three of them were quickly becoming fast friends. Lyra felt a touch guilty for drawing out the return trip, but Leliana reminded her of exactly _how much_ they'd done in the last few days, and she didn't feel as badly for walking slowly and enjoying the sunshine.

"Morrigan and Sten are probably enjoying the extra rest, as well," Leliana pointed out.

"True enough," Lyra agreed, and banished her guilt. _We'll get there when we get there. The mages are on their way, and Connor's life will be saved. That's all that matters at the moment._

In the early afternoon they approached a curve in the road. A woman came skidding around the path, gasping for breath, her hair in disarray and her face panicked.

"Please, help!" she cried. "Bandits have attacked our caravan! My man is bleeding. I beg you, help us!" she implored.

With nothing more than quick glances between the three of them, they followed, chasing after her around the bend.

There was indeed a downed caravan stretched across the road, but rather than the aforementioned bandits, a man stood before it with his arms crossed, seemingly unhurt. When Lyra saw his sly smile, her heart froze. The woman who'd found them jogged up beside him, and he raised a hand in a lazy gesture.

One man, then another, and another, and yet _another_, arose from the bushes, aiming crossbows at the three of them. Lyra's eyes darted frantically among the assembled figures, spotting two more on the cliffs above. _An ambush!_ Her feet backed up a step, but then she heard a cracking sound behind her.

"Look out!" Alistair shouted. The three of them dove away as a giant tree crashed down across the path behind them. They were trapped.

A crossbow released with a _twang_, and Lyra instinctively rolled. A bolt embedded itself into the tree beside her head, and she gasped in shock. Her teeth clenched as she pushed to her feet, launching herself at the nearest crossbowman.

Alistair's battle cry filled the air, coupled with the sound of his shield smashing someone to the ground.

Lyra's stare didn't waver, however. The bowman's eyes went wide as she charged him, his shaking hands winding up to fire another bolt. He never got the chance. She knocked the bow from his hands and buried her dagger in his stomach. His eyes glassed over in shock and pain as he slid to the ground.

_Keep moving,_ she thought, remembering the archers on the cliffs. Lyra yanked her dagger free and searched for her next target. But a shock of energy brought her to her knees, and she cried out at a sharp, sudden pain in her arm. The lightning died, and Lyra forced herself back up on shaky legs as a bloodcurdling scream sounded.

"Can you run?" Alistair had appeared before her, his shield thrown in front of her body as more bolts pinged from the metal and wood. She nodded. "Then follow me, carefully. Stay behind the shield as much as you can."

Running in tandem behind the shield was awkward, and she did her best to match his steps, but her shaken limbs refused to cooperate fully. Lyra was so focused on the task that she didn't notice when Alistair halted, and bumped into his shield.

Alistair wasted no time, and slid his sword directly into an enemy gut with so little effort, she marveled yet again at his strength. A slight movement caught her attention, and Lyra leapt toward another bowman she spotted in the bushes behind them. He was lightly armored as any archer, and without hesitation, she brought her knee up into his groin, then grabbed his hair and yanked his face up to slash her dagger across his neck. A splash of crimson laved Lyra's armor as the bowman slithered to the ground.

Her wounded arm felt as though it was bathed in flames, and now another pain exploded in her side. Gasping, Lyra staggered, collapsing to her knees. Some alert corner of her mind reeled back in horror as her questing fingers discovered a bolt protruding from her ribs.

Alistair's cry echoed through the small clearing. "For the Grey Wardens!"

Lyra blinked through a film of tears to see him engaging the man who'd so casually lounged in front of the caravan. The woman who'd lured them was dead on the ground, a staff clutched in her unmoving hand. _A mage..._ Lyra thought, recalling the shock that had nearly undone her.

The leader was lithe and slim, with dark tattoos on his face, and shorter than Alistair by at least a head. But his small stature only seemed to aid him; he moved so quickly, it was difficult to follow. A warning rose in Lyra's throat, but Alistair's shield snapped up and clipped his foe square on the temple. Dizzy with relief, Lyra sank to the ground, her focus turning toward remaining conscious.

.oOo.

The leader of the bandits spiraled to the ground, and Alistair spun and ran back to Lyra. From the corner of his eye, he'd witnessed her encounter with not one, but _two_ crossbow bolts. It was a wonder she'd stayed on her feet as long as she had. _They're just arrows_, he told himself as he cast his shield away and slid to his knees at her side. _She'll be fine..._

Sweat beaded Lyra's forehead, a grimace of agony squinching her eyes shut. "Where is... Leliana..." she gritted.

"I'm here, love," the sister called. "I was taking care of our friends in the upper reaches."

"Don't talk, Lyra, you've got two arrows in you," Alistair ordered, his voice tense.

"I... wasn't that helpful... was I?" Lyra asked weakly, forcing her eyes open to look at him.

Alistair glared at her. "Say one more word and I'll knock you out myself," he threatened.

"Liar," she whispered, her eyes closing again.

Alistair's jaw clenched as he surveyed the damage. The arrows had to come out, and Maker save him, he was the one who had to do it. _Why her?_ he lamented. Every breath she drew was racked with discomfort, and he would only cause her more pain before it was over.

Leliana knelt beside him. "What can I do?"

"You hold her top half," Alistair instructed, putting aside his apprehensions. "I've got the lower half. And hold her arms... she'll jerk when I pull them out."

Leliana gathered Lyra into her lap as Alistair straddled her legs, ensuring her inability to roll or twist. Lyra's eyelids continually drifted open and shut as they got her arranged. She groaned, and Alistair's heart wrung again.

"Ready?" he mumbled to Leliana. The sister nodded, clamping her hands over Lyra's arms and pinning her to the ground.

Holding his breath, Alistair wrapped his fingers around the smooth arrow shaft in her side. _Please, not barbed,_ he prayed. He pulled.

Lyra bowed off the ground, shrieking as her eyes flew open.

The sound cut through him like a hot knife, slicing deeply into his heart. But waiting would only make it worse.

"Damn! I'm sorry Lyra... I've got to get this arrow out. Deep breath now-" He pulled again, doing his best to keep his hand sure and steady so as not to cause more damage. Lyra tensed and clenched her teeth, then released a seething cry of pain.

The arrow slid free - _barbed_. _Why not?_

"I've got it! You're doing great, Lyra. Hold on... I just need to get you out of your armor," he encouraged, and hastened to unbuckle her mail. Lyra's muscles loosened a bit as Alistair worked her shift up to reveal her ribs. The fabric bunched, and he pulled a knife from his belt to cut it away. Her skin was torn, the ragged hole seeping crimson. Alistair pulled the stopper from his waterskin and poured, cleaning the wound, yet earning another gasp of pain from Lyra.

"I have some salve in my bag..." Leliana offered.

"Get it," Alistair said tersely.

Leliana eased Lyra to the ground, returning a moment later with a metal jar. "Let me," she murmured when he reached for it. "Your hands are too rough."

_We'll need bandages,_ he thought as Leliana daubed pale green salve in the wound. His eye was drawn to Lyra's shift, which was already bloodied and torn. He _could_ have cut up one of his shirts, but the only other one he had was currently in need of a wash. _Forgive me_, he thought as he sliced the shift from her waist, leaving her covered from the midriff up. A few more rips, and he had several serviceable lengths of cloth.

"Give me one," Leliana ordered him, and the two of them got Lyra wrapped up. They repeated the process with her arm, and it went marginally better... perhaps because Lyra had passed out.

Alistair pressed his hand to her forehead, his lips seamed with worry. Arrow wounds were painful, but he'd never seen anyone lose consciousness because of them. He looked to Leliana, who shrugged as she bit her lip.

"We must get to to Redcliffe as soon as we can. I don't _think_ the arrow in her side went too deeply... but it's possible she's been poisoned," Leliana said. "I didn't see anything I recognize, but that doesn't rule out the possibility. The salve we used should slow any ill effects, but... well. Poison will need a healer. If we hurry, we can be back in Redcliffe by nightfall. You'll have to carry her, or we can make a sledge and pull her-"

"I can carry her," Alistair resolved. He shouldered his pack, but a groan behind them whipped his head around.

Their attacker was sitting up, holding his head. Leliana darted to his side and pressed her dagger to his throat. He opened his eyes, then shut them again with a sigh, obviously not liking what he saw.

Alistair strode to Leliana's side, furious that the man had dared to waken. He drew his sword.

Leliana held up a hand. "A moment." She lowered to a crouch, easing her blade from the man's neck. The point she kept trained on him, a scant inch from his skin. "Our companion is wounded, and does not awaken," she said. "Were the bolts poisoned?"

The man eyed them, then gave a slow nod.

"Have you an antidote?" Leliana demanded.

"An herb woman can concoct such a thing," the man said quietly. "But do I have one? No."

The pommel dug into Alistair's hand as he clenched his sword all the tighter. "We should kill him," he growled.

But Leliana shook her head. "How long does she have?" she demanded of the ruffian.

"If the poison is not counteracted within a day, she will die."

Alistair snarled, lunging forward. To his surprise, the man did nothing to defend himself; didn't even cringe. Instead, he tipped his head back, looking for all the world like he was _offering_ them his neck.

"Alistair!" Leliana put one hand on his chest, halting his movement. Her otherwise smooth face was betrayed by the dent between her brows... _She's as upset as I am_, he realized. "We'll take him with us. I want to know who sent them, and he may yet have value. Get the rope from my bag. Hurry."

The man - no, _elf_, Alistair thought, noticing the pointed ears beneath his fine blonde hair - kept his eyes closed, holding very still. He made no protest when they tied his wrists together, or when they bound his arms to his chest. Leliana knotted the cords herself, and Alistair was impressed with the caliber of her work. There was no way the elf could slip _these _bonds.

Alistair scowled at the bandit. "You're lucky this lady was here. If it were up to me, you would be food for the crows right now."

He seemed to find grim humor in the comment, but said only "I will follow where you lead." There was an exotic tint to his words. Different from Leliana's Orlesian lilt, but definitely not Fereldan.

They fastened Lyra's packs on the elf's back, and Leliana hefted the rope that she'd looped around his neck. He was remarkably docile, and seemed perfectly content to do whatever they said. _Good thing_, Alistair thought as he gathered Lyra into his arms. _I'd kill him for breathing wrong right now._

Lyra moaned as her head rolled against Alistair's shoulder. He shot a worried glance at Leliana, and then they hurried off toward Redcliffe.

.oOo.

The sun was kissing the earth's edge as Redcliffe Castle came into view. Lyra had been fitful, groaning and shifting in his arms. At one point she'd begun to thrash - nightmares, mostly likely. Alistair had shushed her, soothing her as best he could.

His arms had long since stopped burning, all feeling gone from the overtired muscles. Lyra wasn't all that heavy, and he was used to forced marches and shouldering heavy loads, but carrying a wounded woman with her weight balanced in front of him for an entire day wasn't like slinging sacks of potatoes over his shoulders. Glad he was to see the end of their journey, and not only so Lyra could get the help she needed.

The elf had caused no trouble. There was no conversation during the trip, just earnest silence as they hurried, racing against the clock. _With luck, Morrigan can cure her,_ Alistair thought. It had been the mantra that had kept him going. Hadn't the witch said she was skilled with poultices and poisons?

They made it through the gates of the castle just as the sun disappeared over the horizon. Ser Perth was patrolling, and he shouted for assistance when he identified Alistair and Leliana. Alistair refused to hand Lyra to anyone else, saying he would take her inside himself, but asked that a healer be found and sent to them as quickly as possible. At Ser Perth's orders, a young recruit went scurrying to the Chantry.

Bann Teagan led Alistair to a fine room with a large bed, obviously meant for a dignitary or other important personage. Alistair laid Lyra gently on the pillows, grimacing as his leaden arms cracked from their long-held stony position. Once he'd gotten some feeling back, he pulled her helmet from her head, then eased her boots from her feet with shaky hands, intent on making her as comfortable as possible. She murmured restless jibberish, the product of her fevered dreams. The hot skin on her forehead met his trembling fingers, and he looked with concern at the livid pink of her cheeks. Between his fear for Lyra and his physical exhaustion, it was all he could do to keep on his feet.

Alistair bit his lip, looking for something else to do until the healer arrived. He glanced at the bandages, wondering if he dared remove them to take a look, but then decided to leave them in place.

He couldn't just stand there staring at her, worrying, or he'd go mad, so he strode out to the main hall, where Leliana and the elf were sitting quietly. Leliana was sipping from a cup, and Morrigan was with her.

"Trouble on the road, templar?" Morrigan asked blithely.

Alistair bit back a sarcastic response, saying through his teeth, "A bit, yes. Do you know any healing magic?"

"No, I do not. If I did, I would gladly aid your friend. But 'tis not a skill I was ever taught," she said carelessly.

Alistair shut his eyes. He'd expected that answer, but it stung nonetheless.

A soft whine snagged his attention. Alistair turned to see Kestrel cowering beside him. He knelt, and the hound hunkered forward to rest his head on Alistair's shoulder, whimpering softly. Heart aching, he circled the dog with his arms, giving him a reassuring pat. "I know, boy... but the healers are coming," he whispered, trying to reassure them both.

The mabari swiped his face with a rough tongue.

He stood. "Do you have her packs, Leliana? I want to take a clean tunic in there, so she can be comfortable after the healer sees her."

"Right here." Leliana handed him the bags. He took them without a word, going back to Lyra's room with Kestrel at his side.

.oOo.

Leliana drained the cup, blinking bleary eyes. It seemed the night of sleep she so craved was to be denied to her. Until Lyra was cured, she'd be unable to rest.

"Your attempted assassination did very little good," Morrigan told the elf in a casual voice. "What poison was on those arrows, anyway?" Her yellow eyes were intense, one dark eyebrow arching.

The assassin flicked a glance at Morrigan. "It is from my homeland, a slow-acting poison called _pesadilla del soldado, _or Soldier's Bane in your barbarian tongue. She will weaken, and her fever will rise. Without the antidote, she will be dead by midday."

"I suppose it would be asking too much for you to tell me the ingredients?"

The elf said nothing, his face as blank as unused parchment. _He knows,_ Leliana realized. _He probably made the poison himself. _

"And what of the antidote?" Morrigan asked, her voice calm. But her slim hands twisted in her lap, her shoulders tensing.

Leliana's mouth twitched. The witch might have been cruel to Alistair, but that was only a matter of form. Everything about Morrigan's body language told Leliana that she intended to do whatever was needed to heal Lyra.

"One can be made. Alas, it is not I who holds the recipe. If I did, be assured I would give it to you most quickly - I have stayed alive thus far, and I have no wish to die over something so simple," the elf said.

Morrigan's face was as smooth as ever. She rose, casting her citrine gaze on Leliana. "I will return soon. If he asks, tell the idiot templar that I am attempting to collect ingredients for a poultice." Without another word, she strode from the room.

Leliana watched her go in silence, then turned their captive. Two curved lines had been inked into the skin of his left cheek, graceful in their simplicity. It had been years since she'd seen such markings, but she would never forget their meaning. "What is your name?"

"Zevran Arainai at your service, my lady - Zev, to my friends." He inclined his head, which was all that was physically possible for him to do, bound as he was. Nevertheless, the motion was graceful and charming.

"Zevran..." Leliana rolled the name around in her mouth. "You are from Antiva."

"Correct. And _you_ are from Orlais."

"I am," she said, enjoying their civilized banter. Clearly, he was a professional. "Who sent you to us?"

"I was hired by an Arl Rendon Howe, on behalf of someone named Loghain," Zevran said. To hear him, one would think he was delivering a report about the weather.

Leliana sighed at the mention of Loghain's name once again. Lyra would have kittens when she found out. "To eliminate all the remaining Wardens, or these two in particular?"

"I do not know of any other Wardens. I was given the descriptions of these two in particular, and was told they had been spotted traveling to Redcliffe. When I got there, or _here, _as it were, I learned my intended targets had left for Lake Calenhad, with plans to return in a few days. It gave me time to prepare the caravan, in case you proved too much for me alone. Which, of course, you did," he said, bowing his head once again.

Leliana nodded, absorbing this. "I don't know what we will do with you now, Zevran. I think it depends on whether or not Lyra lives."

"For both our sakes, then, I hope she survives," Zevran said, and Leliana surprised to hear a note of truth in his voice.

.oOo.

Mother Hannah unwound the bandages gingerly as Lyra's eyes fluttered. They were glazed with fever, her head rolling from side to side.

"Shhhh..." Alistair clasped her hand, then smoothed back her messy hair. He'd unpinned her braids from her head - no simple task, as he'd had no idea what it was that held them up. With experimental tugging, he'd found the hairpins and collected them carefully, piling them on the bedside table. Her dark braids now rested at her sides, and Alistair picked up the end of one and brushed his thumb over it.

Kestrel lay quietly in the corner. The dog hadn't budged since he'd followed Alistair into the room, and Alistair had a feeling it would take another undead horde to pry Kestrel from his mistress's side. Whenever Alistair stood to attend to something, the dog's eyes tracked him around the room, and each new visitor was scrutinized and weighed. When he wasn't watching Alistair or anyone else, Kestrel's anxious eyes were glued to Lyra.

"I can clean her wounds and apply a healing poultice," Mother Hannah said slowly. "But I am not sure it will be enough."

"Whatever you can do will be fine," Alistair said. _I ho_pe_, _he added silently, and brought Lyra's hand to his lips.

Mother Hannah covered Lyra's wounds again, saying something about hot water and fresh bandages. She bustled out, and Leliana came in. "How is she, Alistair?" Leliana asked.

"The same."

"The elf told us a bit more about the poison... it's called Soldier's Bane. Morrigan is looking for herbs that will help."

"Good... Where _is_ the elf?" Alistair asked.

"Locked in the dungeon beside Jowan. He seemed more amused than anything when I checked him for lockpicks and the like... look what was in his hair." Leliana pulled a long, thin hairpin from her pouch. "It was woven into a braid. He isn't just a bandit, Alistair - he's an assassin."

Alistair pressed Lyra's hand to his forehead. "Great. Because that's all we need," he muttered.

Perhaps she sensed his mood, for she said no more as her lithe fingers began unweaving Lyra's braids. A moment later she dug into Lyra's bag, coming up with the comb purchased in Lothering. Alistair watched in silence, chewing his lip as the sister brushed the tangles and rebraided everything neatly.

Mother Hannah returned a few moments later, laden with supplies. A young acolyte carried a steaming kettle, the hot water sending up billows of white mist as it was poured into the basin. Leliana helped the acolyte remove the bandages, and then the Mother pressed the heated cloth to Lyra's side.

Alistair clenched his teeth as Lyra startled in her sleep. He'd had a similar treatment done once, and nothing hurt more on a raw wound. Mother Hannah ignored her reaction, however, and a moment later she laid poultices of medicinal leaves on the skin before binding Lyra with strips of clean cloth. The arm went more quickly, and Mother Hannah pursed her lips when she was done. "I'll be back in a few hours to change those," she said. Alistair nodded. He planned on being there.

Mother Hannah gathered the old bandages, and the acolyte followed her out, taking the empty kettle. Kestrel whuffed, then shook himself and plopped his head on his paws.

"Go and change, Alistair," Leliana said.

Alistair shot her a surprised look. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You plan on sleeping here tonight, yes? You are still wearing your armor, and I'm sure you would like to wash up. Get yourself in order, and then come back. I will stay with her for now," Leliana told him.

Raking his upper lip between his teeth, Alistair looked at Lyra for another moment, then nodded and pushed to his feet. Leliana was right... it would feel good to change and get cleaned up. "Five minutes," he promised.

"She is lucky to have you, Alistair," Leliana said with a smile. "Take half an hour. I'll bathe her, and then you can play nursemaid for the rest of the night. I promise." She began unbuckling Lyra's greaves. "Go on."

Swallowing, Alistair nodded, then forced his feet to move out into the hall. _We all die eventually_, Lyra had said to him.

_Not today_, he prayed.


	21. The Healing Touch

**Chapter 19  
>The Healing Touch<strong>

Lyra burned.

She stood on a desolate plain, baked dry by the unforgiving sun. Harsh light beamed down, without the shadowed relief from tree or cloud. She squinted, her heart hammering as she scanned the horizon. Nothing could be seen, but the sense of dread that welled within went beyond rational explanation.

Fear overwhelmed her, steeping her tongue with the acrid taste of metal. She staggered backward, spinning and tearing across the hardened ground in her desperation to flee.

An unholy scream jarred her bones as the Archdemon's wings beat the air. She sobbed, her aching muscles firing with adrenaline. Something caught her heel, sending her spinning into the dirt with a pain-filled gasp. Gravel scraped her palms as she scrabbled on hands and knees, sheer panic fueling her terror-filled escape attempt.

The warm wind buffeted her as it passed overhead, and with a terrible _whap_ the Archdemon's wing knocked her flat, stealing her breath. The creature flew on ahead of her, swooping around to land on the murdered earth. Panting, she scrambled to her feet, whipping around to run in the other direction. Her side was in flames, her arm gone numb. She cradled her wrist as she pushed herself faster... she _had_ to get away!

The ground trembled beneath her feet, and Lyra slowed as a dark wave crested the horizon. Any hope of escape melted away as an ocean of Darkspawn flowed toward her, their foul advance blackening the landscape.

_"She's on fire..." _Alistair's voice echoed through the bitter air. Lyra cried his name, pleading for him to come and fight at her side. How could she hope to win against such an army? Shaking hands fumbled for her daggers, but they were missing from their sheaths. She was unarmed - defenseless.

_"Hold her down,"_ the Archdemon's voice echoed... oddly, it was female, and sounded vaguely familiar - but she couldn't place it. Terror iced her veins as the creature flew at her, pinning her to the earth with knifelike claws. The monster loomed, reptilian eyes unblinking as she thrashed, kicking and flailing. It reared back, sucking in gouts of air as it prepared to incinerate her with its fiery breath.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as Lyra squeezed her eyes shut, preparing for her end.

.oOo.

Alistair reeled back with a grunt of pain, his hands clapped to his nose. Stars swam in his vision - Lyra had _kicked him_ in the face. He clamped his eyes shut, breathing through his teeth as he waited for the sparks to clear from his head.

"She won't stop fighting!" Leliana gasped as Lyra writhed on the bed. The sister was doing her best to hold Lyra's arms down, and Alistair had braved her legs. _Maker's breath,_ he thought as he drew his hand away, hoping not to see blood. There was none, so he dove back in with grim determination.

Mother Hannah was pale. "She must be calmed before I can help her!" she insisted loudly over Lyra's cries of agony.

"We're trying," Alistair growled through clenched teeth. Bann Teagan and Arlessa Isolde stared at the scene from the doorway, like witnesses to a blight wolf attack. Morbid as it was, they couldn't seem to look away.

Suddenly Lyra stilled, and the room held a collective breath as the girl's muscles slackened. Alistair let go of her legs and backed up quickly, in case she lashed out again. At Alistair's nod, Leliana released Lyra's arms.

Mother Hannah darted a look between them, then whispered, "Is that a good idea? Shouldn't you be holding her while I change the bandage?"

"She's been wandering the Fade all night," Alistair sighed. "You can't imagine the horrors Grey Wardens dream of, Revered Mother. I wouldn't be surprised if she thought we were Darkspawn attacking her. If the nightmare has left her now, you should be able to do your work without our help. If you hurry."

Mother Hannah eyed the quiet girl suspiciously, but then crept forward to cut away the bandages. Alistair nearly cried when he saw her skin... chalk white, marbled with blue and purple, the skin festering and leaking greenish pus.

The Revered Mother reached her hand out to Leliana. Their joined hands arched over Lyra's body as they chanted, praying for healing. Alistair watched, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. _Imploring Him doesn't seem to be helping,_ he snarked to himself.

Mother Hannah pressed a hot cloth to Lyra's ribs. Lyra barely moved through the treatment, making no protest as Mother Hannah packed a new poultice into the wound and wrapped it shut with fresh linen. Her arm didn't look as bad as her side, but the skin was still putrid.

"Is that helping, Mother Hannah?" Alistair asked anxiously.

"It is the best I have, my son," she returned in a crisp voice.

_Which is a nice way of saying no, it's really not,_ Alistair thought. Balling his fists, he strode from the room and slammed one hand against the granite wall of the hallway, clenching his eyes shut as silent sobs wracked his body. _Maker, why?_ _You can't take her from me..._

But Alistair knew just how untrue those words were. The Maker _could_ take Lyra, and perhaps He would. _I was so worried about the Darkspawn, or the abominations...and it's a damned poisoned arrow that kills her_. A sudden idea interrupted his dark thoughts, and he quickly strode the length of the hall, down the stairs, past the kitchens, through the courtyard, and down the dark steps into the dungeons.

The void-stricken elf lounged upon the floor of his cell, his elbows resting on upraised knees as he rested against the dank wall, staring into nothingness. Alistair's hands circled the bars, unspent rage hardening his muscles and blurring his vision. How he wished he could drive his fist through the elf's teeth. Beat him bloody, twist his arms back and pop the shoulders from their sockets, just to hear him scream.

The elf looked up. "How is our beautiful flower?" he asked, rising to his feet. He risked one step toward the bars, but the look in Alistair's eye must have changed his mind about approaching. Alistair said nothing, though his knuckles went white as he struggled to master his temper.

"She cannot be dead. Not yet," the elf said lightly, but there was fear behind his eyes. "The poison takes a full twenty-four hours to complete its course."

"Pray that she lives," Alistair snarled. "I have _hours_ of agony to visit upon you if she dies. I think I'll begin by stabbing you with a blade coated in your own poison. Shades, even if we find the antidote I might do it anyway, just for _fun._"

The elf clucked his tongue. "Your rage is magnificent to behold. We will have to speak of this, sometime when you do not wish to flay me alive." He brought a hand to his chin and studied Alistair thoughtfully. "I have never seen anyone quite so angry. You would make a fantastic berserker, and quite a handsome one, at that. I can see you now... shirtless, your muscles glistening with oil as you swing your giant sword above your head. They would speak of you in the tales for centuries."

Alistair opened his mouth, flabbergasted, then snapped it shut again and stomped out of the dungeon to vent his wrath on the practice dummies in the yard.

.oOo.

Leliana's chin slipped toward her chest. When it fell with a jerk, she startled awake, swallowing as she thumbed a bit of drool from the corner of her mouth. Sand-coated eyes blinked, a headache threatening. With a sigh, she dropped her head into her hands.

Lyra was slipping away... this was plain to see. Mother Hannah's treatments were doing nothing, and they all knew it. Alistair had stormed out - _probably to pace the halls,_ Leliana thought sadly.

She reached for Lyra's hand, her heart weeping. Years as a spy had hardened Leliana to most things, but death by poison was not one of them. Whenever possible, she'd done her own killing cleanly and quickly. No one should linger in such agony. _Though I can't wish her dead,_ she thought, smoothing her thumb over the girl's palm. _Not while there is still a chance. _Lyra was too young, too innocent to go like this. But beyond that, she was too _necessary_. _What will Alistair do without her?_ Leliana wondered. Lyra's death could have very practical consequences on the whole world... without her, Leliana had grave doubts as to whether the Blight would be stopped.

_Faith,_ she chastised herself. _Trust in Him._

Closing her eyes, she focused on the Chant, searching for the words that would reach His ears.

But despite her pious efforts, her mind wandered, flitting from subject to subject. She wondered where Morrigan was, if she'd discovered anything that might help. It could be that any moment, the witch would fling open the doors, victory in her eyes as she declared that Lyra's cure had been found.

_But not likely. _Leliana chewed her lip.

Sten was cloistered in his room; and Maker only knew whether he cared about Lyra's fate. She'd gone to tell him of their return, and received little more than a grunt in response.

From his corner, Kestrel whined, and Leliana offered him a halfhearted smile. "Poor soul," she murmured. "You love her, don't you?"

Kestrel's tail thumped, though he didn't lift his head from his paws.

Leliana twined her fingers with Lyra's. "As does Alistair... and as do I," she whispered, her heart wilting.

It was a love that had come upon Leliana unexpectedly, one that had snuck up and smacked her in the face. But not like the love she'd borne for Marjolaine... no. Lyra was her sister. In the short time she'd known the young Wardens, she'd come to admire them both greatly, and not since Orlais had she felt such closeness with any of her comrades. Alistair was like a younger brother - someone to joke with, tease, someone whose back she was glad to watch. It broke her heart to think that he might lose Lyra now, when they'd only just begun to discover what they were capable of giving one another.

Lyra especially had needed caring, had been so vulnerable in the wake of her losses, despite her obvious desire to be strong. That need had appealed to Leliana, and she'd flown like a moth to a flame. Seeing Lyra come to life again had been wonderful; the girl going from reticent and untrusting to shared confidences and easy laughter. _Maker, please... _She blinked back tears. It had been so long since Leliana had found a true friend.

Her eyes stung, and Leliana scrubbed them furiously, frustrated that she was having such trouble staying awake. Their night in Kinloch Hold was still dragging her down.

An unexpected chuckle graced her lips as she remembered the comical look on Lyra's face when the abomination's head had exploded and rained gore over all of them. Her mind wandered back through the evening, reliving the anxieties and the triumphs. Alistair, joking about Wynne being able to blow his head off with her staff. Wynne, healing them and keeping them refreshed...

_Wynne!_

Leliana stood up so quickly she knocked the chair out from beneath her. Kestrel growled at her in disapproval, then padded across the room to nuzzle his mistress's hand.

For the first time in hours, hope blazed in Leliana's breast. She raced from the room, praying that Bann Teagan kept horses.

.oOo.

Alistair was destroying a wooden post with a trainee sword when Leliana flew down the castle steps, running full out toward the stables. His heart withered in dread, and he tore after her.

"What is it, Leliana? Is she..." his throat closed, the words choking him.

"Alistair! I'm going to get Wynne! Stay with her, tell her help is coming!" Leliana called.

Alistair slowed, dumbfounded. Of course! The mages were probably camped on the road less than ten miles from Redcliffe Castle. If anyone could heal Lyra, surely Wynne could!

Hope flared like a torch. He returned the practice blade to a rack on the armory wall before leaping up the steps to the castle, taking them two at a time in his hurry to reach Lyra.

.oOo.

Alistair's knee jiggled as he perched on a velvet chair. Nervous eyes glanced toward the shuttered windows. Though they didn't yet glow with the promise of sunrise, the edgings were no longer midnight black.

Lyra was running out of time.

With a groan, Alistair slumped in his chair, his head tipping backward. Never in his life could he remember being so exhausted. He'd dozed a bit as the hours crept by, but each time he'd found himself in the Fade, fear for Lyra's well-being had snapped his lids open again.

If anyone had ever hovered on the brink of death, it was Lyra in this moment. The fever dreams were no more; she'd not moved for hours as the life drained from her body. Her skin had taken on a waxy pallor, her dark braids unnatural against such alabaster fairness. Like a life-sized doll waiting to be played with, her features seemed too still to be alive. When her breathing had become too shallow even to lift her chest, Alistair had begun compulsively checking for a heartbeat. There was one... barely.

_Hurry, Leliana,_ he fretted.

A few minutes, or perhaps an hour later - he was never certain, time had taken on such a strange feel - there were footsteps in the hall, and the door was pushed open.

"Wynne," Alistair croaked in a broken voice as he stood. "Sweet Maker, thank you for coming."

The mage was wrapped in a sturdy russet cloak, which she shrugged from her slender shoulders and draped over a chair with a smile. She made no other reply, saying only "Hot water, Leliana. And a small bowl."

Alistair had hardly noticed the bard trailing behind Wynne, but Leliana simply nodded and hurried back out. With a tiny blade and gentle, efficient hands, Wynne peeled the bandages from Lyra's flesh. The wound had putrefied even more, the edges blackened and rank.

Wynne's mouth pursed as she scraped Mother Hannah's poultice from Lyra's body. "Elfroot. Good for most things, but without the extra herbs worse than useless in this case." She dropped the bandages in a bin beside the wall, then found a leather pouch in her pack and set it at Lyra's side.

"Is that the cure?" Alistair peered at the palm-sized pouch. "The elf called the poison Soldier's Bane."

"Yes, Leliana told me," Wynne said. "It's a little known tincture, made popular in Antiva during the reign of King Alfonso, the only ruler mad enough to try and muster an army. Thousands were wiped out... but I digress. Alistair, I shall need your help if we are to counteract this."

"Uh... anything," he said.

"Lend me your strength?" Wynne asked, her eyes twinkling.

Alistair thrust his hands out. "Take it _all_."

Wynne chuckled. "That won't be necessary, my boy. But I _will_ take some." Aged fingers closed around his, and Wynne's other hand laid gently atop Lyra's ribs. Just as in the tower, Alistair felt the strange sensation of being bled - but unlike their defeat of the Sloth demon, this healing seemed to require far less energy.

Lances of golden light speared outward from Wynne's fingers. Alistair's breath caught as he watched Lyra's skin slowly return to life, all signs of decay fading as the minutes passed. But before the wound knit itself shut, the light faded, and Alistair frowned. Surely the healer wasn't finished?

"Now," Wynne said. She held out her hand, and Leliana passed a clay bowl filled with steaming water - when had Leliana returned? - into her grasp. The pouch was shaken over it, a fine green dust drifting down to coat the liquid.

Wynne's fingers passed over the bowl with a murmured incantation, The dust sank, then absorbed and expanded. In seconds, a mash had sponged up, fragrant and herbal. "This will nullify the poison," Wynne told them. "Tomorrow I should be able to heal her completely, but she will need a day of bed rest to recover." She scooped her fingers into the bowl before daubing the herbs into the torn flesh.

"Her arm-" Leliana began.

"There is enough," Wynne said with a gentle smile. "I may be old, but I am not yet senile, my dear."

Leliana smiled sheepishly.

Alistair flopped into his chair, his energy sapped. Adrenaline and anxiety had kept him going, but seeing Lyra pulled away from death's door - coupled with Wynne's tapping of his reserves - did much to weigh down his weary lids. He shut his eyes, then found he couldn't open them. They burned with fatigue, and he fought off a yawn as he pried them back open, blinking tears.

"...staying with her for the rest of the night?" Wynne asked.

Alistair reeled forward as he came suddenly awake, his eyes flying wide. He'd heard only the second half of Wynne's inquiry. "Hng... um. Yes. I'll just... in the chair." Alistair stood, stretching his fingers toward the ceiling. Lyra's arm was neatly bound, as was her abdomen. It appeared they'd finished without him.

"Til morning, then," Wynne said softly. Leliana dropped a kiss on Lyra's forehead, then murmured a goodnight before following the healer out.

Alistair glanced at the window. Creamy light filtered through the cracks in the shutters, heralding the new day. He eyed the velvet chair where he'd done so much worrying, then went to Lyra's bed. Her color had improved already; her breathing had deepened, and pale roses bloomed in her cheeks. He lifted a hand to smooth her hair, his sleep-deprived mind giddy with relief at her recovery. To look at her, one would never know she had so recently been just inches from death.

The room wasn't all that cold, but he pulled up the goosedown blanket and tucked it around her up to her chest, gently settling her hands atop her stomach.

How sweet she was, lying there dreaming. A memory flitted through his mind... Lyra asleep in camp, her arm curled beneath her head as she had dozed through their preparations to leave for Redcliffe. Her braids lent her such a childlike innocence. _The sleeping princess, _he thought as he looked on her now.

On a whim, Alistair took a knee at her bedside. It was a silly fantasy, one that wouldn't actually accomplish anything, but... _I'm an idiot, _he thought as he lowered his mouth to hers. Her skin was cool, but warmed quickly beneath his touch.

Of course, nothing happened. Alistair backed away, feeling a touch foolish. But then Lyra drew a deep breath, a tiny smile curving the corners of her lips as she slumbered on.

Alistair's heart melted.

To the void with the chair. Yawning, he stretched himself out beside Lyra's sleeping form, weaving his fingers with hers before dropping into an exhausted sleep.

.oOo.

The sound of birdsong teased Lyra from the embrace of the Fade. Breathing in, she stretched her arms, then winced at the ache that shot through her ribs. In a flash, it all came back - the ambush, the crossbows, the bandits who'd waylaid them. She'd been wounded... and apparently cared for. Tentative fingers found the bandages on her arm and abdomen. Aside from being tired and sore, she felt fine. Her stomach protested, twisting in on itself as it implored her to fill it. Lyra blinked, looking around.

She'd been tucked into bed, in an _actual_ bed. Lyra slid her feet along the sheets, savoring the feel of a mattress beneath her battered body. Pure luxury! Such things had gone under the heading of 'taken for granted' before. Were it not for the bandages winding 'round her body, she could almost imagine she'd accompanied her parents on a state visit.

Except, on those trips, she'd never woken to a beautiful man at her side.

Pivoting her head, Lyra drank in the sight of Alistair. He'd passed out on top of the coverlet still wearing his clothing, the fabric rumpled and creased, his hair mussed and his face lined with sleep. Unlike the previous morning's serenity, he seemed worried even as he dozed. A dent between his eyebrows displayed the anxiety that tensed his body, and as she shifted toward him his eyes flew open.

"Lyra'mhere," he slurred, pushing himself up hastily.

"Hey," she said softly. Reaching out to touch his face, she hissed in pain as both her arm and side flared up from the slight movement.

"Stay still. You had a bad night," he said. One hand lifted to smooth her hair. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," she said quickly, wanting to smooth the wrinkles from his forehead. "Truly, Alistair. I'm fine."

"You were _shot_," he admonished her. "Wynne healed you, but-"

"Wynne? From the tower?" Lyra frowned, wishing she hadn't been unconscious for so long. "What happened?"

He gathered her into his arms, brushing her nose with his as his forehead rested against hers. Lyra winced, but bit back her pain and adjusted her position, her heart rejoicing at being so close to him. "The arrows were poisoned. You almost didn't make it," Alistair continued quietly. "But then Leliana rode to get Wynne, and she arrived in the wee hours to cure you. You're supposed to stay in bed today, though."

"Alistair... I'm so sorry," Lyra said. She shifted a bit, her arm burning.

He guffawed. "Why are _you_ sorry? Well, you did kick me in the face, so maybe you should be a little sorry. But other than that, you have nothing - absolutely _nothing_-" he laid a finger over her lips as she began to protest, "...to be sorry for."

"I exposed myself too much," she objected. "I shouldn't have gotten shot. Neither of _you_ got shot."

"How many fights have you been in with crossbowmen?" he countered.

She sighed. "One, including yesterday."

"See? You're an expert now." He grinned at her in triumph.

She gave him a wry smile in return, then frowned. "I kicked you in the face?"

He chuckled.

The door opened then, startling them both as Wynne entered the room. Quick as a flash, Alistair let her go and rolled from the bed to land on the far side with a _thump_. Perplexed at this behavior, Lyra pushed herself up on an elbow to stare at him.

"Don't disturb her, Alistair," Wynne said in a bland voice, closing the door behind her. "She needs her rest, and so do you. Go ask Bann Teagan where you can sleep."

Alistair climbed to his feet, his cheeks red. Mumbling an apology, he slunk from the room, but poked his head back in and mouthed a silent message at Lyra when Wynne's back was turned. _I'll be back,_ he gestured.

_Okay,_ she returned, biting back a giggle as he closed the door.

Wynne sat in the chair beside the mattress. "Now, young lady. How are you feeling?"

"Fine. Well, sore and tired, but fine," Lyra said.

"Somewhat tender, I imagine?" Wynne asked as she began to remove the bandages.

Lyra nodded, hissing slightly as the bandage tugged her raw skin. Wynne peeled the cloth away, and Lyra grimaced at the look of the wrapping. It was stained a sickly green and streaked with brown, the color of pus and old blood. _Maker's breath_... She shuddered to think of the poison her body must have struggled to fight off.

The skin was cratered, thin and fragile; the angry red of newly made flesh. From the looks of it, there would be scarring, but it would probably fade with time. It was nothing Lyra hadn't seen before, though after such a wound it usually took weeks to achieve this level of healing.

Wynne deposited the bandages into the bin, then unwrapped Lyra's arm. It looked better - not as much scarring, and the flesh was tighter. The mage laid her hands over the two wounds and lowered her head. Lyra relaxed as warmth flickered through her, tongues of heat lapping at her hurts. When it faded, Lyra dragged her eyes open once more, feeling sleepy.

"You were very lucky, young lady. I am glad to have gotten here in time to help you," Wynne said as she stood. "Now you should rest. Don't leave this bed today. You've been through a great deal. And if Alistair bothers you too much, throw him out on his ear."

"I will," Lyra grinned. Apparently, they were less subtle than she'd thought.

Wynne turned to go, then hesitated. Lyra waited, expecting her to speak, but a heartbeat later the mage merely gave her a brief smile and closed the door behind her.

A moment later, Alistair sneaked back into the room. "Did she heal you?" he asked.

"Yes, but..." She opened her arms. "Come kiss me better."

The smile that lit Alistair's face outshone the sun.

.oOo.

"I did try, you know." Morrigan lowered herself gingerly onto the bed.

Lyra nodded. "I know. Thank you."

Kestrel butted her hand. She was tempted to invite him up, but settled for scratching him behind the ears.

Morrigan traced the coverlet with her fingernail. "He was quite worried, you know."

"Kestrel?"

The witch rolled her eyes. "No. The dolt you seem to be so attracted to."

"Ah," Lyra said.

"Yes. 'Twas disgusting to behold." Morrigan stood and sauntered from the room. Lyra shook her head, amused at the witch's aversion to anything sentimental.

Alistair came in then, his hip bumping against the door as he balanced a breakfast tray in both hands. Leliana trailed behind, three cups of juice grouped in her fingers. "I want to tell you what I learned about the ambush," Leliana said earnestly.

"She needs to eat," Alistair protested. "Let her eat first."

"I can eat and listen." Lyra reached for the food as Alistair settled the tray across her knees, but his hand snagged the fork first.

"You're exhausted," he told her. "I'll feed you."

"Are you serious?" Lyra stared, wide-eyed as Alistair scooped up a bite of fried egg and smeared it over her toast. "You're not feeding me."

"Oh, you must not want anything right now," he said blithely. "Good thing I'm hungry." With exaggerated slowness, he brought the yolky toast toward his mouth.

"Give me that." Lyra grabbed, but Alistair's hand snaked away, his eyes sparkling with fun.

Lyra shoved the tray aside and lunged, forgetting that there were a dozen more perfectly good eggs and mountains of toast piled on the plate, not to mention bacon, fruit, and cheese. She crumpled back almost as quickly, her side blazing as she grunted in pain. "Damn it!"

"Alistair, don't tease her!" Leliana scolded. "Lyra, you've got to stay still!"

"Make him give me my food," Lyra whined petulantly as the aches calmed. "I'm wasting away here, and he's making it harder on me."

"Ungrateful." Alistair loosed a gusty sigh as he adjusted the tray back across her knees. "Do you know how many women would fall all over themselves to let me feed them?"

"Nope. And neither do you." Lyra mashed the toast into one of the eggs, soaking up the sunshine-yellow yolk.

"There's at least two. Three, maybe, if we count Chanter Rosamund. Of course, she wasn't eating at the time - and the falling might have been because I'd tied her bootlaces together."

Leliana snickered. "Charming. Sit, Alistair, you've got to be hungry as Lyra, and this will go quicker if you keep your mouth shut. Lyra, it was no simple ambush - they were assassins, and their ringleader is an Antivan Crow."

"Who are the Antivan Crows?" Lyra asked, distracted as she made room for Alistair on the bed. The copious amount of breakfast suddenly looked meager as Alistair began digging in at her side. Using her fork, she carved out two piles of eggs in an attempt to keep him honest.

"A guild of assassins. Very well respected, not just in Antiva, and with that respect comes expense. Hiring a Crow is not cheap. The client is guaranteed satisfaction, and it is a matter of honor for the Crows - they always complete the job."

"Which means they're coming back," Lyra muttered. "The ones who attacked us - are they all dead?"

"Well, they weren't _all_ Crows - just the leader. And... no." Leliana perched on the bedside chair. "Zevran Arainai is his name, and he's currently in Arl Eamon's dungeon."

Lyra nodded slowly, her mouth full and her mind racing. She swallowed. "Who hired him?"

"He claims he was hired by Rendon Howe, though his ultimate contract was with Loghain."

"Mm." Such news should have been staggering, but the moment Leliana had said _assassin,_ she'd suspected as much. It was a touch frightening, how inured she was becoming to revelations of Loghain's treachery, though her stomach did flip over on itself as she lifted her juice cup to her mouth. As soon as possible, they needed to get to Denerim... though what Lyra planned to do when they got there still felt nebulous. Would an honorable confrontation even work, in the face of such a heartless adversary?

"I didn't ask him much more. I thought you would want to be involved."

"Thank you, I would," Lyra said. "This afternoon."

.oOo.

"I like it." Alistair grinned as Leliana tucked a final strand of Lyra's hair into the woven crown on top of her head.

"It's fun, isn't it?" Leliana agreed. "All it needs now are some flowers. I'm tempted to send you down to the gardens to get some, Alistair." Trotting across the room, the sister tilted the mirror atop the vanity so Lyra could catch her reflection.

The Warden pursed her lips, her eyes judgemental. "It's nice..." she hedged. "...but I wouldn't want to wear it every day."

"Which is your kind way of saying it's far too girly, and it won't fit under your helmet," Leliana giggled. "Let me have my fun. It's been years since I did hair. Most women don't have length like yours. There's so much I can do with it!"

"You sound like Oriana," Lyra chuckled.

After breakfast, all three of them had napped, and now they waited for the assassin to be brought in for questioning. Lyra was dressed in a knee-length tunic of Isolde's, a dusty rose color with belled, elbow-length sleeves. Propped up by pillows, she reclined on the coverlet with her hands folded in her lap, her ankles crossed and her feet bare. Seeing her thus, with her hair arranged and in the simple dress, Alistair was enchanted. _And she thinks she isn't pretty, _he thought. He would spend the rest of his life changing her opinion of herself.

A soft rap on the door. "Come," Lyra called.

In strode Ser Perth, leading the elven assassin by the arm. His wrists were bound, though he walked freely. Alistair glowered. So far, the ruffian had done nothing to earn his life, aside from telling them what sort of poison needed to be counteracted. _But if he hadn't poisoned her, none of this would have happened. It's hardly enough reason to keep him breathing._

The elf smiled confidently, his teeth white and straight in contrast to his golden face. Despite his night in the dungeon, his clothing was unrumpled, his face clean, his hair smooth. The tattoos on his cheek only accentuated his foreign look, as did the tips of his pointed ears. Alistair glanced at Lyra, who was studying this new arrival with keen-eyed interest. His glower deepened.

"Ah, you are awake, lovely flower. I am filled with happiness at the sight of your smiling face and your beautiful blue eyes," Zevran said, his accent sizzling over the words.

Lyra's brows rose. But then she settled herself on the bed, her eyes stern and unimpressed, which loosened the tension in Alistair's shoulders by a few clicks. "Leliana tells us you are an Antivan Crow, hired by Loghain to murder myself and my compatriot," she said.

"Sad, but true," the elf sighed. "However, you proved too much for me. I have heard of the legendary fighting skills of the Grey Wardens, but I must admit I was not prepared for the likes of you and your handsome companion."

Alistair's jaw tightened as he knuckled the arms of his chair.

"I'm rather happy you failed," Lyra said.

"So would I be, in your shoes. For me, however, it sets a rather poor precedent, doesn't it? Getting captured by a target seems a tad detrimental to one's budding assassin career."

"Yes, it takes talent to foul up that badly," Alistair jeered.

Zevran chuckled. "Is that what you Fereldans do? Mock your prisoners? Such cruelty," he said lightly.

"What will happen now? Loghain will want to hear back from you, to know the job is completed," Lyra said.

Zevran shook his head. "I was contracted for a service. Whether or not I complete it is between Loghain and the Crows - and, the Crows and myself. I was not to see Loghain again. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home, and the Crows would have informed Loghain of the results, if he didn't already know. If I had failed, I would be dead - or I should be, at least, as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain, then."

"How much were you paid to kill us?" Alistair demanded, hoping this would remind Lyra that the elf had, indeed, almost killed her.

"_I_ wasn't paid anything, although the Crows were paid quite handsomely, from what I understand. Which does make me about as poor as a Chantry mouse, come to think of it. Being an Antivan Crow is not for the ambitious, to be perfectly honest."

"Then why are you one?" Lyra asked, crossing her arms. Alistair scowled. Now she sounded interested. Throughout, she'd remained passive, her hands folded and her eyes intent as she listened to his responses. _She's treating this too casually,_ Alistair complained to himself.

The elf considered. "Aside from a distinct lack of ambition, I suppose it's because I wasn't given much of a choice. The Crows bought me young. I was a bargain, too, or so I'm led to believe. But don't let my sad story influence you. The Crows aren't so bad. They keep one well supplied... wine, women, men... whatever you happen to fancy." He shot a coy smile at Alistair, who shifted in discomfort while glaring daggers. "Though the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you," the elf continued. "If you are considering joining, I would really think twice about it."

"Thanks, I'll take that under advisement," Lyra drawled.

"You seem like a bright girl. I'm sure you have... other options." The words spun out like silk.

Alistair clenched his teeth.

Lyra's eyes darted toward him, but were back on the assassin a breath later. "Why are you telling us all of this?"

The elf laughed. "Why not? I wasn't paid for silence... not that I offered it for sale, precisely."

"Your lack of loyalty astounds me," Lyra observed.

Zevran pursed his lips, seeming to think about this for a moment before replying. "Loyalty... is an interesting concept. If you wish, and you're done interrogating me, we can discuss it further."

Leliana shrugged. Lyra slid another glance toward Alistair, who would have reduced the elf to a pile of ash with his stare alone. "What's your name?"

"Zevran Arainai, at your service." The assassin attempted a bow, but Ser Perth's grip did not slacken, and instead he inclined his head. "And though I would wish to call you nothing but beautiful, what name may I whisper as I fall asleep each night?"

A twitch at the corner of her mouth. "Whisper whatever you like, I don't care. My name is Lyra."

"Ahh... elegant. Simple. As lovely as the curve of your cheek, as breathtaking as an Antivan sunset. You are well-named, _bella flor._"

"And you are full of pretty words," Lyra said. "So, go on. We were about to discuss loyalty."

"Well, here's the thing." Zevran began to lower himself onto a bench across from the bed, his head turning toward Ser Perth in exasperation when the knight did not release his arm. With a roll of his eyes, Zevran straightened again. "I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. Thing is... I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So... let _me _serve _you_ instead," he said matter-of-factly.

"HA! As if we would agree to that. You'd kill us in our sleep," Alistair snapped.

"No, I would not. To be completely honest, I was never given much choice about joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I've paid my worth back to them, plus ten-fold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can't touch. Even if I _did_ kill you now, they might just kill me on principal, for failing the first time. Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you."

"We don't need your services," Alistair bit out.

But Lyra leaned forward. "What could you do for us?" she asked.

Alistair gaped at her. _Is she serious?!_

Zevran brightened. "I am skilled at many things - from fighting to stealth to picking locks. I could warn you, should the Antivan Crows attempt something more... sophisticated, now that my attempts have failed. I could also... stand around and look pretty, if you prefer. Warm your bed. Fend off unwanted suitors."

Alistair _growled_, and from the floor, so did Kestrel.

"No?" Zevran seemed amused. "Well, I have other uses. I'll even shine armor. You won't find a better deal," he appealed.

A taut moment of silence as the elf and the Warden looked at each other. Lyra sucked her lower lip between her teeth, her head tilting as she narrowed her eyes a bit. "Fine. You'll travel with us," she said finally.

"What?" Alistair yelped. "You want to take the _assassin_ with us now? Lyra, the man nearly killed you!"

"Yes, but he failed. Thanks to you. And he could be really useful," Lyra pointed out.

"Indeed I can, my flower. You will see just how useful I can be," the elf said with a knowing smile. "Now, may I be untied, please?" Zevran held up his wrists.

She shook her head. "Not yet. When we leave Redcliffe, we'll work out a traveling arrangement. For now, you'll go back to your cell."

"Fair enough. I look forward to speaking with you more, _bella flor_." The assassin's eyes gleamed with wickedness as Ser Perth guided him from the room.

The moment the door closed, Alistair jumped from his chair and began to pace. "How can you even _think_ about letting that slimy whoreson come with us? He's an _assassin_! A cold-blooded murderer who'd strangle you as soon as... as... dance with you!" Alistair raved.

"I like his spirit," Leliana said.

Alistair came to a halt, a disbelieving look on his face as he shook one finger at her. "You... you... you..." he sputtered, words failing him.

"Alistair." Lyra's tone brooked no nonsense. He stopped to shoot her a wounded look. "Alistair, I'm _fine_."

"But you didn't see. You didn't see yourself lying there, nearly... nearly..." Alistair knelt by her bed and dropped his forehead on the coverlet. "Lyra, if he comes with us I'll never sleep again."

He heard her sigh as gentle fingers threaded his hair. "We'll watch him very carefully. Maybe we can hobble him, I don't know. But I think he can help us. Weren't you moved at all by what he said? About being bought as a child, and not having a choice about joining the Crows?"

"Most of what I heard was _warm your bed_," Alistair snarked as he sat up.

Lyra caught his face in her hands and leaned down to press her forehead to his. "There's only one man I want in my bed, Alistair Theirin. And you know exactly who it is," she whispered, before she leaned in to kiss him tenderly.

"Well, just... keep it that way," he mumbled against her lips.


	22. Judgy Mages

**Chapter 20  
>Judgy Mages<strong>

The mages clumped around Connor's bed. The boy was still as stone, his eyes stretched in a never-ending stare. From her position at the footboard, Wynne planted her staff, her head lowering as her eyes closed. A sudden flare of light, and the rest of the mages began a choreographed dance. Blue lights swirled around them as they slanted back, arms twirling above their heads in perfect synchronicity, eyes blank and staring into a netherworld only they could see. Golden light enveloped Wynne's body, the lights from her fellow mages swirling around her and feeding her power.

From her spot in the corner, Arlessa Isolde wrung her hands. It appeared she'd slept little, the bruises beneath her eyes telling their own story. Her usually-sleek hair was mussed, though her clothing was impeccable as ever. The arlessa watched with her heart in her eyes as the mages worked their magic.

It was only moments until the lights swallowed Connor's body as well, a grating howl whipping through the room. The mages' dance quickened to a frenetic maelstrom, and the dreadful sound reached a fevered pitch. When the last piteous moans had faded into silence, the dance slowed, then came to a synchronized stop.

Wynne's eyes flew open, her veined hands tight upon her staff. "It is done," she said quietly. Though she did not droop, her hands shook as she stepped away from the bed to fold herself gracefully into a chair. The other mages looked exhausted as they bowed to Wynne then shuffled out, seeking their beds.

Taking their exit as her cue, Morrigan stepped away from the wall, a low chant beginning under her breath. Orange sparks flitted about her hands, enveloping Connor, who vanished in the blinding glow. When the light faded, the boy was sitting up and yawning, his small hands fisted as he rubbed his eyes. Giving a gladsome cry, the arlessa rushed to his side, kneeling by the bed to pull him into her arms.

"Mother? What's wrong?" Connor's childish voice asked. Isolde only sobbed harder in response, her fingers clutching his tunic. He blinked, looking a bit disturbed as he tried to wriggle from her embrace.

"Thank you," Isolde whispered, her eyes darting from Morrigan to Wynne. The witch said nothing, her arms crossed over her chest as she leaned casually against the wall. "Thank you ever so much. You have saved my son's life... without you, I-"

"Thank the Wardens as well, Lady Isolde," Wynne cut her off. "If they had not come to the Circle, any hope of saving your son would have been lost with them," the mage said in an austere voice.

Lyra snapped her face toward the floor as hilarity rose in her throat. In only minutes, Wynne had taken Isolde's measure and acted to put her in her place. _She reminds me more of my mother every time I see her._

Isolde turned her teary face toward Lyra and Alistair, who were lounging against the back wall in silent observation. Halting, she rose from her knees, then minced forward and slipped her arms around Alistair's shoulders.

If Isolde had begun tap dancing and doing cartwheels, Alistair couldn't have looked more shocked. He darted a helpless glance at Lyra, who only bit her lip and grinned. Hesitantly, he hugged Isolde in return, awkward hands patting her back.

"I have not always been... been kind to you, Alistair. Please accept my apology, and my thanks for saving Connor's life." Isolde drew away, keeping her eyes on the floor, then bowed her head to Lyra. "Thanks to you as well, Lady Cousland. I will never forget the kindness you have shown my family," she murmured.

"Mother? I'm hungry."

Isolde said nothing more to them, but fled to Connor's side. She scooped his hand into her own, helped him from the bed and led him out, likely to the kitchens.

"Well... _that_ was unexpected," Alistair muttered.

"Will he remember?" Lyra asked Wynne.

"It's difficult to say. But my guess would be no, he will not remember anything of his time with the demon." Wynne slowly stood. "I will rest until the dinner bell," she told them, and left the room with a nod. Morrigan followed her after a single glance in their direction.

Bann Teagan gestured, and Lyra and Alistair followed him out into the corridor with Kestrel at their heels.

When they reached the main hall, Teagan spoke. "You have my thanks; my personal gratitude, and the gratitude of everyone in Redcliffe." Teagan held out his hand to Alistair, then took Lyra's hand and clasped it warmly.

"Please allow me to reward you, Grey Wardens. You will surely need supplies as you travel." Teagan handed them a heavy pouch. From the weight, Lyra knew it must have contained a small fortune. An objection was on her lips - they hadn't saved Connor for _money_ - but then she thought of their impending trek across Ferelden and thanked Teagan. They did need to eat, and scavenging coppers along the road wasn't an idea she relished.

"The hospitality of Redcliffe is yours. Please stay as long as you like," Teagan said with a smile.

Lyra smiled back. "We should only need a day or so to prepare. I don't know if Morrigan will need more rest, but I know I'll enjoy another night in a proper bed before we set out again."

"Teagan, do you have any more information on Brother Genitivi?" Alistair asked. "We plan on heading to Denerim next, to interview him. It may be a slim hope, but if the Urn can cure Eamon then every effort must be made to find it."

Teagan's brow furrowed as he shook his head. "No, unfortunately I do not. He took his research with him when he left. If you find him, no doubt he would have much he could tell you." He ran one hand through his hair, then said, "Please forgive me, Wardens, but I have some things to attend. If you plan to leave tomorrow, I will arrange supplies for you. Shall I see you at dinner?"

"Thank you Teagan," they said at the same time. With a final nod, Teagan strode from the room.

Lyra turned to Alistair with a smile. She'd intended on saying something about Teagan's kindness in giving them so much, but Alistair wrapped his arms around her and kissed her instead.

The pouch slipped in her grasp as she melted into him, her fingers scrabbling to catch it before it plummeted to the floor and spilled everywhere. Delicious tingles spread over her skin, the exquisite feel of Alistair's lips heating her blood. Giggling a bit, she pulled away, self-conscious that he was kissing her like _this_ in the middle of Redcliffe's main hall. Kestrel yipped and butted Alistair's leg, and he swatted the dog away.

"You're insatiable," she murmured.

"Less talking, more kissing," he returned. Swooping in again, he joined his mouth with hers. Kestrel whined, bulling his way between them.

"Is this really the best place to be doing this?" she mumbled around his lips after a moment.

"I suppose I could drag you off to your room," he murmured. "Unless you have a better idea?" His lips left hers and trailed down her neck.

"Well, yes, actually." It was getting harder to concentrate. Her eyes closed as he lipped the smooth skin beneath her ear. "I thought you could show me how to use my new sword?"

He growled. "But... kisses." His hands tangled in her hair, tipping her face to his.

Kestrel barked, and that decided Lyra on ending the moment before Connor came running in. "Alistair, really... someone will walk in at any moment!"

He sighed. "You're making me absolutely crazy, you know," he groused. "And you're not helping," he added to Kestrel. The dog yawned, unimpressed.

Lyra giggled. "I can tell." Full of reluctance, she eased away from him and took his hands in hers, swinging them lightly. The silence stretched.

"Too fast?" Alistair asked finally.

"Maybe a little," Lyra said, feeling sheepish.

"I'm sorry..." He squeezed her hands, his eyes regretful. "I don't want to push things too quickly."

"Believe me, I'm every bit as eager as you are," Lyra chuckled. Even now, the blaze he'd sparked beneath her skin had yet to die. "But maybe we should just... enjoy the process a little. In a perfect world, we'd have plenty of time to..."

"Get to know each other?" he suggested, and she nodded.

Alistair kissed her on the cheek, then pulled her toward the kitchens. "Fair enough. Let's eat, and then I'll show you a thing or two about killing Darkspawn with a real blade, instead of that toy you usually poke with."

"I'll poke _you_ with it if you're not careful," Lyra returned as his fingers wound with hers.

.oOo.

They had an excellent bout of sparring practice that afternoon, during which Lyra got a solid feel for Bevin's sword. Kestrel joined in the fun as much as possible, though Lyra finally told him to go hunting, tired of the mabari getting between them. Using the thin, curved blade really wasn't as difficult as she'd anticipated. She spoke with Smith Owen about a new scabbard, planning on using the sword and one dagger to fight with from now on.

Owen was delighted to see her. Valena was with him, and she'd hugged Lyra with girlish delight.

"You brought my daughter back. I can never repay you for that," Owen said, his voice gruff. But when Lyra asked about crafting the scabbard, he insisted on making it for her at no charge.

Alistair had Owen repair their armor, as well. After the horror of witnessing Lyra take two arrows, he intended to see that she was better protected. He spoke privately to the smith, who promised to make some improvements and have everything ready before they left in the morning.

Sten joined them in the yard after they'd resumed sparring, now outfitted in borrowed leathers, and offered to take on the two of them together. Alistair and Lyra were soon sweating freely as Sten repelled attack after attack, blocking every swing with an ease that defied explanation.

The qunari volunteered nothing about what he'd been doing while they were gone, but Teagan told them later that when he wasn't guarding Connor, he'd been helping Murdock with some new training techniques. Apparently, Sten had also made a trip down to the dungeon to meet their newest party member, though what the taciturn warrior thought of the foppish assassin was anyone's guess.

As the sun began to set, Alistair and Lyra trudged happily back to the castle to bathe and change before dinner, muscles aching and bodies covered with dust.

.oOo.

"It's just a dress," Leliana teased her. "And it's the plainest one Isolde had."

Lyra grumbled from her seat in the vanity, watching the mirror as arcane things were done to her hair. Leliana's deft hands wove miracles, braiding, twisting, stacking and looping. The last rays of sun caught Lyra's chestnut locks, the plaits shining.

"There," Leliana said proudly. "You're a princess."

Lyra chewed the inside of her cheek. It _did_ look nice. The dress wasn't as dark as her hair, but nut-brown was nothing flashy. And even if there _was_ a touch of white lace at the bodice and sleeves, at least it was just trim. Nothing that would drag through gravy or trip her up.

"Pinch your cheeks," Leliana instructed.

"I'll do no such thing," Lyra refused. "This is silly. It's _dinner_, not a ball."

"Lyra Cousland," Leliana exclaimed. "Pinch your cheeks!"

Lyra stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes.

"You're such a brat!" Leliana scolded. "You need color. If you don't pinch your cheeks I'll slap you and do it for you."

A knock at the door interrupted Lyra's response, and Alistair poked his head in a moment later. He hadn't escaped Isolde's intentions, but wore a borrowed shirt, doublet and trousers from Teagan's closet. "Lyra? Are you ready?"

"Yes." She shoved back from the vanity, intending on making a joke about how he'd saved her from a fate worse than death. But the expression on his face stopped her in her tracks.

Alistair's eyes rounded as he took her in. His gaze dropped to the floor, then climbed her length, rising at last to the elaborate hairstyle Leliana had constructed. "Wow," he said softly.

Heat flooded Lyra's cheeks.

"And there's your color," Leliana caroled. "Alistair, keep her blushing. I've got to finish getting dressed." Skipping forward, the bard planted a kiss on Alistair's cheek before she danced out of the room, throwing Lyra a triumphant grin and closing the door.

Alistair paid the sister no mind, admiring eyes glued to his fellow Warden.

"So... hi." Lyra swallowed, her stomach full of butterflies. "And now you've seen me in a skirt. Leliana thinks I'm her doll for dress-up, I guess."

Alistair made no reply as he meandered forward, his eyes never leaving hers.

"Isolde insisted," she continued, wondering why she felt such a need to chatter away. "It was the simplest one she had. Luckily she's tall, or it wouldn't have fit me at all. Even so, it's a bit short. I think Isolde is the type never to throw anything away. Leliana complained that this is ten years out of fashion."

Alistair reached for her hand.

"And all I have are boots," she continued. "The last time I tried to wear my boots with a dress, my mother threatened to kennel Kestrel for a week. If she could see me now, she'd be scandalized."

His skin was warm, his grip gentle as he brought her fingers to his lips. "Lady Cousland," he whispered.

Lyra's breath caught, her mouth drying as he stepped closer, her hand still draped over his.

"If there was music, I'd ask you to dance," he murmured.

"If there was music, I'd say yes," she whispered. "And then I'd step on your feet and you'd wish you'd left me there against the wall."

"You're too pretty to be a wallflower." Alistair's right arm wound around her waist, his left hand lifting her right one in an approximation of a waltz. "Too bad there isn't any music."

"Too bad." Her heart hammered. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

His lip quirked as he leaned in to brush her mouth with his. "You're the only girl."

.oOo.

"Jowan. So this is where you've been hiding," First Enchanter Irving said sternly.

Jowan stood before the mages, his head drooping. Shackled and chained, he'd been clothed in the plain tunic of a servant, his fancy robes thown on the fire. Lyra wasn't sure if this was symbolic, or if there was inherent power in a mage's costume, but everything had been done to make Jowan as ineffectual as possible.

Arlessa Isolde perched in a throne-like chair, watching the proceedings with unforgiving eyes. Connor stood close to her, one of her arms circled about his waist, while Teagan hovered nearby, his hands clasped behind his back.

Lyra and Alistair leaned against the wall at the other end of the room, his arms folded across his chest, hers tucked behind her back. Difficult as it was to refrain from touching each other, Lyra was ultra-conscious of their station, and preferred to keep things as neutral as possible in public. Even so, the little glances he kept flicking her were doing nothing to strengthen her resolve.

Kestrel pressed his head into Lyra's thigh, and she ruffled his ears. Even he'd been unable to escape Isolde's whims, and had been scrubbed and brushed. As a result, he was clingy as a burr.

Jowan's pleading brought Lyra's attention back to the proceedings. "First Enchanter, I have done terrible things, and I wish I could take them all back. I don't ask for your forgiveness. I know the penalty for what I've done, and I'm prepared for the consequences. But please... don't make me Tranquil. If that is to be my punishment, then I ask that you kill me instead," he said, his voice cracking.

Irving raised his eyebrows. "You wish death, instead of Tranquility?"

"Yes, First Enchanter. I have no wish to live in a world without color or emotion. The Tranquil are valuable members of our society, but being cut off from the Fade would hurt me more than anything in the entire world. I beg you... kill me," Jowan trembled.

Isolde spoke. "This man _poisoned _my husband, who even now will not wake. He nearly caused my son to be destroyed by a demon! Do not be merciful - he deserves a punishment fitting of his crimes!"

"And what of you, Lady Isolde? Connor should have been sent to the Circle as soon as his abilities were discovered. Have _you_ no fault in this?" Irving asked.

Isolde's lower lip quivered, but her eyes flashed as she found her voice again. "Regardless of my choices, Jowan _still_ poisoned Eamon. Punish him for that!"

"What do you say, Wardens?" Irving said. The room turned to look at Lyra and Alistair.

They exchanged a wordless glance. "It should not be left to us, First Enchanter," Lyra said at last. "This decision should come from the Circle."

Irving's chin dipped in acknowledgement, and he turned back to the apostate. "Jowan, you will return with the mages to Kinloch Hold. There, you will be made Tranquil as punishment for the crimes of destroying your phylactery, running from the Templars, and the use of blood magic. Any attempts to escape will be rewarded with nothing but your own death."

Jowan nodded miserably. A pair of guards stepped up and clasped the blood mage by the arms, escorting him back to the dungeons. Isolde looked as if she'd swallowed a lemon, but she said nothing, perhaps contenting herself with the idea of Jowan's Tranquility. Teagan signaled that dinner would begin in a few moments, and everyone began to file into the dining room.

"I don't understand," Alistair murmured as they followed the crowd. "Irving doesn't seem like a cruel person. Is he denying Jowan his deathwish out of some sense of duty?"

"No," Lyra said. "He wants to be sure death is _truly_ what Jowan wants. If it is, Jowan will make an attempted escape, and they will strike him down. If not, he will return to the Tower and be made Tranquil."

"Leadership... it's beyond me." Alistair shook his head.

Lyra chuckled, amused at his naïveté. Growing up a teyrn's daughter had hardened her to such justice, and she had passed more than one such sentence herself. In her eyes, Jowan was little more than a murderer, responsible for the massacre of Redcliffe. His death or Tranquility made no matter to her, as long as the man was removed from society.

Arlessa Isolde set a beautiful table. Morrigan wrinkled her nose at the fancy flatware and dishes, but she seemed to appreciate the suckling pig that was brought out as a third course, and she_ did_ enjoy the wine. Sten was almost too big to be allowed, but he surprised everyone with his fine manners. As per usual, he said little, flatly ignoring any personal questions. However, when asked, he gave a brief description of the suggestions he'd made to Mayor Murdock about improving the fortifications of the town. Leliana led a lively discussion about the history of Redcliffe, and coaxed Bann Teagan into relating the story of how the place had gotten its name. Lyra and Alistair fed Kestrel scraps of chicken under the table and exchanged giggles with Connor, enjoying the disgraced looks Isolde kept shooting them whenever her son tossed a morsel to the mabari.

The other mages seemed uneasy around Morrigan. Lyra wondered belatedly if they should have warned the apostate to stay in her room, but Morrigan seemed not to notice the concern, so Lyra decided she could fend for herself. When the time for dessert came, a young mage who'd been making calf-eyes at Leliana all night offered to light the flambé himself. Unfortunately, the gentle flame he promised became a raging fireball, and as Isolde shrieked, Lyra saw Morrigan give a lazy gesture. A shower of ice rained over the table, hissing as it quenched the greedy flames. The pudding was utterly ruined, and the chefs were forced to substitute fresh fruit. Isolde was annoyed, but Lyra had suffered through enough state dinners that she was unable to smother her giggles. Beneath the table, she inched her hand into Alistair's.

Just as the last plates were being cleared by the servants, Wynne rose from her chair. "Irving, I ask a boon. I would like to travel with the Wardens, and assist them in their quest to end the Blight," she said, her voice clear and calm.

Conversation died around the table as all heads turned to stare at the elderly mage.

"Wynne, we need you at the Circle. There is much rebuilding to be done-" Irving began, but Wynne's amused laugh cut him off.

"You don't need me at the Circle. You can handle everything just fine without an old busybody like me." Wynne said. "Petra's apprenticeship is finished, and there is no one else who is ready for mentoring yet. I teach no classes that cannot be taken on by others. There are three other very capable senior healers at the Tower. There is no reason for me not to join the Wardens Irving, and they could certainly use a healer." Her voice remained quiet, but firm.

Irving sighed, then chuckled. "You never were one to stay home when there was adventure to be had. I was rather surprised when you volunteered for Ostagar, but ...well. All right, Wynne. You have leave to go with the Wardens."

"We'd be glad to have your help, Wynne," Lyra said, and at her side, Alistair nodded eagerly. A healer would make their journey easier, and probably a lot less deadly.

"Then it's settled. I will leave with you in the morning." Wynne seemed pleased.

The dinner broke up shortly afterward. Lyra suggested that Alistair ask Teagan about his mother's locket. Alistair brightened at the idea, and hurried to speak to his uncle. Lyra was waiting for him to return when Wynne approached her.

"May I have a word?" the mage asked. Lyra nodded, curious as to what Wynne might want to talk about. _Travel accommodations, or likely some such_, she thought. She followed the mage to a secluded corner and waited.

Wynne seemed a bit unsure of how to begin. "You and Alistair. What is the nature of your relationship?" she asked at last.

Lyra blushed. "Um... we're friends, certainly. And lately, I think it's begun to be a bit more than that," she hedged, somewhat embarrassed to be asked this by a woman she barely knew. It didn't help that Wynne reminded her so much of her mother. What _would _Eleanor say if she knew how close the two of them had become in just a few days?

"Yes... I see. And how long have you known each other?" Wynne questioned.

"We met right before the battle at Ostagar. I suppose it was about two weeks ago," Lyra said, too aware of the heat in her cheeks. How visible was it in the low light?

Wynne nodded, her eyes concerned. She drew a breath. "While we climbed the Tower, I couldn't help but notice your... blossoming relationship," she said. "I know Alistair's identity. It is not common knowledge, but my position makes me privy to many secrets. Have you given any thought to the future?"

"You know Alistair is..." Lyra began, shocked.

Wynne nodded. "The last surviving Theirin? Yes. With Cailan dead, and the two of you the last Wardens in Ferelden, this puts him in an awkward position, don't you agree?"

"Alistair doesn't want to be king," Lyra protested, but her stomach twisted in discomfort. If anyone knew just how little _want_ mattered, it was her.

"That may not matter," Wynne chided, giving voice to Lyra's thoughts. "He has a direct claim to the throne, and I would not be surprised if he is put forward. But besides which, you are both very young, and you are both Grey Wardens. The Blight is the first thing you should be thinking of, and I would hate to see either of you get hurt."

"I would never hurt Alistair, and he would never hurt me!" Lyra cried, then bit her lip, reminding herself to stay quiet. That had been a bit more impassioned than she'd intended.

Wynne sighed, her eyes apologetic. "You might not mean to. But a Grey Warden has a duty, to protect - not just the ones they love, but everyone. If you had to make the choice between saving your love, and saving all of Ferelden... how would you choose?"

Lyra was stricken. She thought of the Archdemon, chasing her through her dreams. "I don't want to have to make that choice," she whispered.

"Nonetheless, you may have to. It may be better for you to end things now, to prevent unnecessary suffering later."

"So, what, I should tell him to go away? Leave me alone? You're making it sound as if my choices are to hurt him now, or hurt him later. I don't accept that," Lyra said angrily.

Wynne drew herself back, her eyes wintry. "I have given my advice. It is up to you what you do with it." Back straight as an arrow, she gave a cold nod and glided away.

Hot tears stung Lyra's lashes. Turning to the wall, she brought shaking hands to her face.

Would her mother have counseled her this way? What about Duncan? She bit her lip, struggling for control. Lyra had no idea if Grey Wardens were allowed to fall in love...very possibly they weren't. She had no idea, and no one to ask except for-

"Lyra, look!" Alistair's happy voice brought her awareness back to the present. Giving her eyes a quick wipe, she turned around to see him holding the repaired locket, grinning from ear to ear. "I can't believe it. I was so sure it was lost! Look, it's been glued. Did you see her picture? Wasn't she beautiful?" Alistair gushed, opening the locket to display the miniature portrait.

"Very beautiful. You look like her," Lyra smiled. Alistair beamed. He didn't seem to notice her distress, and she was content to leave him in the clouds.

"There's a fireplace in my room. Want to sit in our pajamas and roast meat on skewers? I can get everything we'd need from the kitchens," Alistair offered, giving her his arm. She slipped her hand through it, Wynne's words turning over in her mind as Alistair babbled. Should she tell him of the conversation she'd had with Wynne? What would he say? Would he agree?

_Damn it,_ she thought, furious. _I don't care. I don't care if we're together only until tomorrow. I'm happier now than I have been in my whole life, and I'm _not_ throwing this away because of a 'maybe'. So what if Grey Wardens aren't supposed to be together? We're the only ones left now. _We_ make the rules, not some stuffy old woman who's spent her whole life in a tower. She's probably never even been in love..._ The thought startled her. Was _she_ in love with Alistair?

"...don't know if I should actually wear it. I used to wear it all the time, but now there's the Warden's Oath, and besides, it's got so many cracks-" Alistair was cut off as Lyra plastered her lips to his. She threw her arms around his neck, holding him tight as she teetered on the edge of desperation. Nothing would make her let Alistair go. Not now, not _ever._

Surprise had stiffened him, but after a heartbeat, he softened, his arms circling her as he returned the kiss. "Wow," he chuckled after a breathless moment. "What was that for?"

"I just..." she swallowed, the words tangling up in her mouth. "I just missed you."

"Aww," he grinned. "Well, maybe I'd better not let you go for the rest of the night. Y'know, just in case you start missing me again."

"I'd like that... a lot," she smiled.

They spent the evening together, and Lyra snuck off to bed long after she should have. Alistair remained a perfect gentleman the whole time... which she regretted only a little.


	23. Bend or Break

_Many, many thanks to the lovely Wintryone for her beta and polish of not just this chapter, but the whole story thus far. :-)_

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 21<br>Bend or Break**

"You're wrong."

"And you're an idiot."

"And _you're_ a haggy swamp witch who wouldn't know a dinner fork from a pitchfork!"

Morrigan made a negligent gesture. Alistair opened his mouth, and a croak came out.

Panic raced over his face as he tried to speak again, but another croak was all that issued forth.

Morrigan gave a smug smile. "I'm sorry, templar, I don't speak frog. Oh, who am I kidding... of course I do. Say anything you like."

Alistair's eyes narrowed in fury as he began croaking like mad.

Lyra glared at the witch. "Change him back, Morrigan."

"Must I? He sounds much more intelligent this way, don't you agree?"

Lyra simply glared harder.

The wilder woman sighed and waved her hand once more.

"_croak ribbit croak son of a bitch she's gone too far I swear I'll put mud in her hair while she's sleeping-" _Realizing his voice had returned, Alistair snapped his mouth shut, dark anger flashing in his eyes.

"That was cruel, Morrigan," Lyra said.

"Haggy swamp witch?" Morrigan raised an eyebrow.

"Apologize," Lyra whispered to Alistair.

"No."

"Alistair!"

"Fine. I am _so_ sorry for calling you a nasty name. I wasn't aware the wicked witch _cared_," Alistair shot out. Lyra smacked his chest with the back of her hand, perhaps a bit harder than was strictly necessary.

The bickering was getting absolutely out of control. They were four days on the road to Denerim with another three to go, and Lyra wasn't sure she could handle even onemore minute of pointless arguments.

Silence reigned as Morrigan smirked and Alistair sulked. The sounds of boots swishing through the grass grew loud in Lyra's ears, and gritting her teeth, she marched ahead, leaving the witch and the templar behind.

Being the leader wasn't the picnic she'd assumed it would be. In Highever, her word had been law, her father's well-trained soldiers leaping to her every command. Now, each order was questioned, discussed, weighed and measured before it was agreed upon. Her status as "leader" seemed more figurative than literal, much to her chagrin. There were conversations about every little decision - and a thousand decisions seemed to be required every day, each of her companions depending on her to tell them what to do. In some cases, even the minutiae was up to her, with Sten requesting permission to "empty his bladder", and Alistair asking her where the best spot for the firepit was. More than once, Lyra had wanted to scream _Take some initiative!_

Even now, the imagined weight of six stares pressed heavily upon her beleaguered shoulders. Daring a glance back, Lyra surveyed her group to see if they'd _actually_ been watching her, or if paranoia had taken hold. Alistair's wounded eyes were locked on her - no surprise there. She skipped quickly to Morrigan. The witch's passive face revealed nothing, but her golden gaze was on the horizon. Without warning, she meandered away, perhaps to collect plants, perhaps never to be seen again. _One can only hope, _Lyra thought with a twist of her mouth.

But she squashed the thought as soon as it crept through her mind. Bitchy Morrigan might be, but she'd proven invaluable, and who knew what the future might bring? _There's a reason we're all here_, she reminded herself. ..._I think._

Sten also gazed straight ahead, his granite features as cold and unchanging as that unyielding stone. At his side, Leliana was writing in a small book. How it was possible to write as she walked was a mystery to Lyra, but the bard was doing it, and with total concentration. Of the four of them, so far only Alistair had actually been looking at her.

She slid her glance next to Zevran, the assassin. After leaving Redcliffe, the elf had spent the first day marching with his hands tied. When it came time for them to eat, though, Lyra gave it up as a bad job. The assassin had been polite, quiet, and willing to follow every order she dictated. She didn't want someone else to have to _feed_ him. So, she decided she should either untie him, or kill him.

It had been the first disagreement. Much to Alistair's displeasure, Zevran was untied, and had continued his exemplary behavior despite Alistair's conviction that they would all be dead by morning.

Zevran caught her glance and bowed his head, giving her a grin and a wink so quick she wondered if it had actually happened. Faint mirth touched her face. At least someone was smiling at her. How strange was it that her intended murderer was being the most cooperative.

That brought her to... Wynne. As soon as Lyra's gaze found her, the mage's eyes shifted away. She _had_ been watching, and she hadn't been eager to be caught.

Lyra turned away, feeling sick.

The mage hadn't uttered another word about her budding relationship, but Wynne's persecuting eyes were always on them, constant as the sun. Lyra found herself drawing away from Alistair as the days passed, withering under the mage's critical gaze. What she should have done was talked to him about it, told him just what was driving the wedge between them. But every time she thought of approaching Alistair, Wynne's cool perusal stopped her. _Lose him now, or lose him later, _her haughty look taunted.

Things were unraveling at an alarming rate, and Lyra wasn't sure what to do about it. One thing was certain, though. It was hard to remain calm when she couldn't vent her feelings effectively.

"I'm going hunting," Alistair announced suddenly, turning to stalk off into the forest. "I'll find the camp in a few hours."

Lyra signaled Kestral to follow him, her heart heavy. It had been days since things had been right between them. They'd stolen a few precious moments in the morning or late at night, but it was hardly enough to build a relationship. Would that she'd never spoken to Wynne in the hallway!

Zevran sidled up next to her. "Things are tense between you and the handsome Warden, are they not?"

Lyra looked at the elf in surprise. "What business is it of yours?"

The elf chuckled. It was a deep, throaty sound, confident and amused. "Because, _bella flor_, you are our leader. And when the leader is troubled, the group is troubled, no? Come now. Tell Zevran what has happened."

When she'd first seen Zevran, his hair had been loose, hiding his pointed ears. Now, he'd fixed his blonde tresses in a half-down, half-braided style that left silky strands touching his shoulders. The tattoo on his face only added to his mystique, though Leliana had mentioned it was simply a mark of rank. His light brown eyes were often amused, though at present they held nothing of their usual jocularity. Though he was no shorter than the average elf, he barely stood taller than Leliana, and Lyra felt odd conversing with a man less than her own height. The only elves she'd ever spoken with regularly were the servants, and most of them had been women - and Maker knew, she was taller than just about _every _other female.

"...thanks, but I'll be fine," she said at last. "It's none of your affair."

"Am I not a part of the group?" He tilted his head. "You need an ear, my flower. Come. I have two. Take one. Fill it with your woes."

Despite her frustration, she laughed. "Take your ear, huh?"

"Just like the rest of me, it is yours to use however you like." Another quick-as-lightning wink.

He seemed so _nice,_ and she really did need someone to talk to... Lyra hesitated, thinking of what Alistair would say when he found out she'd confided in the assassin.

A sudden flash of anger burst in her chest. What business of it was Alistair's who she spoke with? It wasn't as if he was even _here_; he'd stormed off to pout in the woods.

After a few false starts, her troubles with Alistair and Morrigan came pouring out. "It's like they _want_ to make my life hard," she complained.

Zevran clucked his tongue as she finished. "Alistair strikes me as a fool, not to realize what difficulties you are having. Why does he wish you to be the leader? He is the senior Warden, as you say. Not that you are not completely capable, not to mention completely gorgeous."

Lyra paused, but decided to let that one pass. "He wasn't raised to it the way I was. He's more comfortable following."

"Then _you_ _must_ take the lead, my flower. Tell him, in no uncertain terms, that the fighting must stop. And you must tell Morrigan the same. They respect you, no?"

"I think so..."

"And they wish to follow where you go?"

"They seem to..."

"Then your course is clear. Be firm, and you will get results." Zevran said simply, his Antivan accent sizzling like water on coals.

She sighed. "I guess I'll try. Thanks, Zevran."

"For you? Anything, _bella flor_," he smiled.

.oOo.

Alistair strode into camp hours later with a young buck draped over his shoulders and Kestrel bounding along at his side. The mabari had turned out to be an excellent hunting partner, but even this was difficult to stomach - doubtless, Lyra was the one who'd trained him. He'd also been a help when it came time to find the camp... though Alistair had no intention of telling anyone how lost he might have been without the war dog.

Leliana called a greeting, and he grunted, lacking the cruelty to ignore the cheery bard outright. Otherwise, his arrival was met with silence. He shouldered the animal to the ground and pulled a knife from his belt, painfully aware of the one person in camp whose eyes had zeroed on him the moment he sauntered in.

She was watching.

Alistair gritted his teeth as Lyra's stare burned through him. He warred with himself, wanting nothing more than to return her look... but after what she'd done earlier, he had no interest in caving. She'd sided with _Morrigan_!

Just what had happened to create the distance between them he didn't know, but as far as he could tell, it was mostly tied to two things: Morrigan, and Zevran. The swamp witch was being a real pain in the ass. And the assassin should never have been brought along. Were it up to Alistair, he'd stab one and transport the other to the end of Thedas. It really didn't matter to him which one bled out and which vanished in a puff of smoke; both would be equally pleasing.

Kestrel whined.

"What?" he muttered, shooting a sidelong glance at the dog.

The mabari pranced and yipped, then lowered the front of his body, wagging his rear in the air. Alistair shook his head with a quiet chuckle as he turned back to the deer.

"Can I help?"

Alistair stiffened. The void-stricken dog had distracted him, allowing Lyra to sneak up unseen. How did she manage to move without making any noise? He pinned Kestrel with a baleful glare. "Thanks a lot, mutt," he said under his breath.

Lyra knelt at his side, her hands reaching for the buck. "Here, you go hindquarters, and I'll-"

"I can handle it," he snapped.

She paused, her brows furrowing with hurt. "Are you actually angry with me?"

"I don't know. Are you going to hit me again?" he returned in a snide voice.

Her eyes fell shut, a long breath lifting her shoulders. "Look, Alistair, things between you and Morrigan have _got_ to stop. It's making me crazy trying to mediate between the two of you. She's nasty sometimes, but you provoke her."

"I provoke_ her? _Did you _hear_ what she called me this afternoon?"

"An empty-headed nit. And then you called her a haggy swamp witch," Lyra said, sounding weary.

"And _then_ she called me an idiot," Alistair continued, warming to the injustice of it. "It was totally uncalled for. All I did was ask her about growing up in the Wilds."

"Yes, but then you said she'll look like her mother in a hundred years."

"She will!"

"But you didn't have to _say _it."

"You didn't even defend me!"

To his surprise, Lyra threw her hands into the air and gave a crazed laugh. "I can't fight all your battles, Alistair!" she cried. "You make these fights happen, and then you expect _me_ to finish them? I have better things to do than constantly nursemaid you like a child!"

Frost threaded Alistair's spine. "Fine," he snarled. "I'll be putting this roast on the fire. Maybe you'd better have someone supervise me; make sure I don't _hurt_ myself."

.oOo.

Staggered by the venom in his tone, Lyra pushed to her feet, swallowing as she tried to ignore the anger and anxiety that swept over her. Alistair hadn't been quiet; everyone was aware of their fight by now. "You need to cool down," she said in a low voice.

"Oh, _I_ need to cool down. But you're a perfect picture of composure."

Panic set in as her eyes skimmed the camp to see who might be watching them. "Alistair, this isn't... look. Just... cool it," she repeated, attempting to keep her voice professional. "I'll check in with you later." Spinning on her heel, she walked away, fists clenched in an attempt to keep her temper.

"Yes. Thanks ever so much," Alistair called after her retreating figure. "Maker knows we'd be lost without you. Maybe later you can teach us all a thing or two about life, the universe and everything!"

Lyra's blood boiled. She slowed for a moment, her breath heavy as she fought the urge to march back, yank Alistair to his feet and clock him right across his perfect chin. Instead, she urged herself faster, her teeth digging into her clamped lips as she broke into a run through the forest.

The sun cast beams of luminescence through the branches as Lyra ducked and wove through the trees, but she saw nothing of the beauty around her. Vision smeary with tears, she hardly noticed her ragged breathing as she tore over the spongy earth. Alistair was supposed to be the one she ran to, not the one she ran _from_.

She stopped finally, her side in stitches, her breath hitching as she leaned on her thighs. The finely woven breeches she'd schlepped around in for weeks were wearing thin with constant use, and now as she flopped to the ground, the knee of one leg shredded, worn through at last.

"Damn it!" Putting her face in her hands, Lyra sobbed her heartache. It was too much to bear. Her stomach gnawed itself, demanding she fill it _again_, despite the hearty breakfast and generous lunch she'd already devoured. There wasn't always enough food for all of them; she and Alistair were pits without bottom. More than once she'd gone to bed hungry, kept awake by the pains in her belly despite having eaten her share. She'd had a good scrub at Redcliffe, but now her skin itched with accumulated grime and sweat. The nights had grown warmer as spring took hold, but still her bones ached with the hard earth's lingering cold. Too often she woke shivering in her thin blankets, even with Alistair beside her - which he hadn't been for two nights now. And what little sleep she snatched was punctuated with nightmares, dripping with despair and terror as she fled the Archdemon's clutches.

The soft snap of a twig startled her into stillness. She swallowed her tears, one wrist dragging across her nose as she quieted her sadness.

"_Bella flor_." Graceful as a doe, the assassin dropped down beside her, one hand touching her back.

"Hi," she said in a watery voice.

Zevran said nothing for a moment, but then one hand reached for her chin. She shied back, then closed her eyes as he lifted her face, ashamed of the tears that had doubtless tracked clean streaks down her cheeks. When next she opened them, she wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but it wasn't the kindness she saw.

"Such sadness," he whispered, his toffee eyes empathetic. "The burden is made lighter with sharing, you know. Please. Allow me to carry some of it."

_Alistair wouldn't approve_, she thought as she chewed one lip. But as Zevran's arms circled her and the tears began to flow, any concerns of what Alistair would think flew clean out of her head.

.oOo.

Kestrel yowled, the whine that rose from his throat as expressive as a song.

"What's wrong, Kestrel?" Leliana knelt beside the mabari, gentle hands smoothing his ears.

"He wants Lyra," Alistair muttered, then, "and he ought to just go find her, and stop weeping about it." This last he directed to the war dog. But Kestrel only flopped over and cried like a child, his legs paddling the air pathetically.

"Kestrel..." Leliana sighed, then stroked one hand over his fur. "Alistair, he wants _you_ to find Lyra."

"Well maybe Lyra doesn't want _me_ to find _her_." The words tasted bitter, but what else was he to think? She'd been an ice queen for days. After they'd left Redcliffe, it was like she'd lost whatever small interest she'd ever had in him to begin with. And he'd spent enough time making a fool of himself over her. She knew his feelings. If she truly wanted to, she could damn well return them. Ignoring the leaden lump that had settled in his stomach, he turned back to the roast, adjusting it over the fire, attempting not to burn it too badly.

A sudden pain exploded over the back of his skull.

"Gah!" He flinched as he looked up at Leliana, whose open hand had delivered the blow. "What was that for?"

The redhead leaned in, her blue eyes glittering with danger. "You march yourself into those woods and find her, or so help me, Alistair, I'll make you wish you'd never been born."

"But-"

One gingery eyebrow rose as she speared him with a disbelieving look.

"Maker's ass," he snarked, climbing to his feet. "_Fine_."

Kestrel leapt to his feet with a woof of doggy joy, racing into the trees and then tearing back to Alistair as the Warden trudged behind.

_It's her own fault_, he told himself as he tailed Kestrel through the woods. The mabari's nose followed an invisible trail, his hind-quarters wagging furiously. _I'm not the one who __suddenly stopped caring._

In Redcliffe, she'd been all his. They'd spent every moment together... their last night snuggled in front of his hearth had been a dream come true. But now, on the road, it was like - she was _ashamed_ of him. Even the mere idea of it turned his stomach.

Yet she still had moments when she _did_ seem to care. The soft, private way she'd smiled at him as they'd woken up that very morning - even if she'd shied away from his attempts to kiss her in front of everyone. And then last night, after dark, when the whole group was asleep.

He'd been sitting his shift of guard duty, his eyelids drooping, when Lyra had come to relieve him. A gentle touch on his shoulder, and he'd reached for her hand, pressed a kiss to it... his blood burned, remembering the way she'd tackled him without warning. She'd been a storm in armor, straddling his knees, her hands cupping his face as she kissed him with wanton abandon. It had ended only seconds later, Lyra scrambling away at the sound of Kestrel's bark, but... He flushed, remembering the need that had overwhelmed him. When it was just the two of them, the barriers came down, and sweet Maker, the desire that spiked through him...

_It's like she doesn't want __other __people to see it,_ he mused. Was that it? Yet, she'd held his hand and cuddled with him in front of Leliana, and seemed to have no compunctions over Morrigan and Sten. It was only since they'd started the journey to Denerim that she'd grown reserved.

And it was killing him. _What changed?_

Kestrel's joyful bark drew him from his thoughts. The mabari took off like a shot, skimming through the underbrush. Alistair jogged after him, then stopped short at the sight of Lyra in the arms of the elven assassin.

They looked so intimate, her head cuddled into his shoulder as he rocked her back and forth.

Molten rage bubbled up, the sight of that _elf_ holding _his_ Lyra tightening his fists. He'd been cuckolded - and he'd had no idea! He flushed at the thought of it... did everyone else already know? Was he being laughed at behind his back?

_I'll kill him_, he thought, murderous intent rising within his breast. _I should have killed him in Redcliffe!_

But as he watched, his anger drained away, melting into despair. Whose choice was it - his, or Lyra's? He could hardly force her to pick _him_, after all. Their last exchange hadn't been all that friendly, and he'd offered her little but poisonous words, even though she'd been trying to talk to him. Maybe if he'd listened, she wouldn't have run to Zevran.

Why shouldn't she find solace in the arms of another man?

_But this man?!_ he thought, nauseated. _He tried to murder her!_

When Zevran hooked her chin in his fingers and looked into her eyes, Alistair could watch no more. Sagging against a tree, he covered his face with his hands, his heart sinking into his shoes. Whatever he and Lyra had begun, it was clearly over.

After another pained moment, he slipped away, moving as quickly and quietly as he could back to camp.

.oOo.

"Zevran, I think..." Lyra hiccupped, her voice aching. Alistair's handkerchief was crumpled in her fingers, already much abused. "I think I love him."

"Then tell him," the assassin laughed gently. "What man wouldn't adore those words from such beautiful lips?"

"I can't," she agonized. "It... it isn't-"

"My flower," the elf said, all seriousness. "Love is too precious to squander."

She gave a tragic laugh, her voice woolen. "So many people are telling me that."

"Then you are surrounded by wisdom," Zevran said simply. "He is angry, you say... give him those dulcet words, and all will be mended. He will be yours, body and soul."

She shook her head, mopping her nose. "There's reasons why I shouldn't say it."

Zevran cocked a brow. "What reason could possibly be big enough?"

"How about the fate of the world?" she retorted.

Zevran guffawed.

"You think I'm joking," Lyra sighed and shook her head. "And, well, there are those who don't approve."

Zevran surveyed her for a moment before responding. "My flower, you are a Warden. You are also a woman. And he is a man. The three are not mutually exclusive."

"According to some, they should be."

"They are wrong."

Her brow furrowed. "How do you know?"

A faint, sad smile touched his lips as he drew her into another hug. "Trust me."

Lyra sighed, her eyes falling closed as she allowed the assassin to hold her. "I'm glad we brought you along," she murmured. "Don't kill us all and make me regret it."

He laughed softly. "Never fear, you are safe with me, _bella flor_."

A happy bark snapped her eyes open, the sound of disturbed undergrowth heralding the arrival of her dog. "That's Kestrel," she said. "He must be worried about me."

Zevran squeezed her one last time, then drew back, curving his fingers beneath her chin. "Tell him. Give me your word that you will."

Lyra bit her lip, then gave a slow nod.

Kestrel came tearing up, muddy paws fouling them both as he tackled Lyra to the ground. Zevran rose, a grimace on his face as he knocked dirt from his clothing.

"Sorry... Kestrel! Off!" Lyra shoved at the dog, then gave up and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his fur. "We should get back, I suppose."

Zevran offered her a hand up, and a moment later they were strolling together, the dog loping between them with tongue lolling.

"I admire you greatly, you know," Zevran commented in a casual voice.

"Why is that?" Lyra asked, giving him a wry look. Though he'd seemed sincere enough, Zevran's honeyed tongue was something she'd been wary of since their first conversation.

"What is there _not_ to admire about you?" the elf said lightly. "You are stunning to behold, and certain death with a weapon. In Antiva, you would have had no end of suitors. Surely dozens of men have perished trying to win your hand!"

She rolled her eyes, huffing a laugh. "Right." But then the memory of Rory intruded, and her heart twanged.

"None?" Zevran clucked his tongue. "I find that very hard to believe. Your eyes, like sky at dusk. Your hair, like polished wood. Your cutting wit, acidic as a comtesse's poison. You may not think you are a goddess, but you do not see what I see, _bella flor_."

"And that is quite enough of that kind of talk," Lyra told him. "Friends, Zevran."

"If one cannot receive compliments from one's friends, I dread the things one might hear from one's enemies."

"Says the man who almost killed me," Lyra teased.

"Ah! You see? Your words, like the bite of an adder. We really must get past this whole assassination thing."

Kestrel snorted.

When they walked back into camp, the first thing Lyra noticed was Alistair's absence. _Where did he go?_ A touch of fear iced her heart, but she closed her eyes, drawing a calming breath. Likely, he'd just gone to fetch more wood, or complete some other mundane chore.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and sparks from a distant fire flared against the cobalt sky. _Morrigan_...The witch was the other half of her problem. How to get through to her?

The wisp of an idea beckoned. "Thanks, Zevran," she murmured, then hurried over to Leliana.

The bard was scribing in her journal, the pages propped open on one knee as she sat cross-legged on the ground. "Hey. Do you have that black book we picked up in the tower?" Lyra asked softly.

Leliana's eyes widened. "I completely forgot about it!" Setting her writing aside, the sister dug the leather-bound volume out of her pack.

Lyra smiled her thanks as she took the book, and squared her shoulders as she walked over to the witch's fire.

Morrigan knelt in the bracken, winding strips of dough around sticks and propping them near her small blaze. She'd done this on several occasions, creating crusty spirals of bread that paired well with stew and soup. What Lyra had yet to figure out was where she'd been getting the flour. But her appetite hushed her tongue, lest the food supply cease.

"Come to tell me to leave your precious templar alone?" the witch drawled.

Lyra cautioned herself against taking the woman's bait. "Yes... but Morrigan, it isn't because he's _my_ templar. It's because the two of you are creating tension in the entire group, and the fighting has to stop." She sat on the ground, watching the wilder woman at work.

Smooth hands lifted a pale chunk of dough from a wooden bowl, twirling it between flexing palms. "I have done nothing more than any other sane person would have done. He attacks, I retaliate." The dough stretched into a long snake, and Morrigan's deft fingers coiled it around another stick.

"But sometimes _you_ attack first. And you have magic, which isn't exactly fair."

"He has muscle," Morrigan said carelessly. "If he chooses not to use it, 'tis his own folly."

"Are you saying you'd like him to take a swing at you?" Lyra asked, stunned. _Because he would, I guarantee it._

Morrigan cast her a sour glance. "No. The muscle I refer to is his brain, though 'tis atrophied almost beyond repair."

"See, that is _exactly_ what I'm referring to." Lyra crossed her arms over her knees. "You snipe at him. Why?"

Morrigan brushed dough from her hands. "You would not understand."

"Try me." Lyra was ready to hear anything.

The witch studied her for a moment before replying. "I have been given a duty by my mother that I do not find at all tasteful. It involves Alistair. But the man is incorrigible, and the thought that I must perform this duty is beyond my ability to tolerate."

Lyra chewed on that for a moment. "It can't be that you have to kill him, because you'd have done it already."

"As I said, you would not understand," the witch said dismissively.

"Well, whatever your duty is, he's more likely to help if you're actually friendly with him. ...You can be friendly, can't you?"

"I can be friendly when I choose. Alas, desiring the templar to be more intelligent does not make it so."

"Please, Morrigan?" Lyra clenched her teeth.

The witch gave a great, heaving sigh. "Fine. I will desist in 'sniping' if he will."

"Thank you." Lyra stood, then remembered the book in her hand. "Um - we found this in the Circle Tower. Could you use it?" She passed the black book to Morrigan.

With a curious look, the witch took it, and her eyes flew wide. "This! This is my mother's grimoire! You found it in the Tower, you say?" The book turned over in her eager hands, and then she put it to her nose and _smelled _it.

"Uh... yes. It was in the First Enchanter's office." Lyra stared, taken aback by the witch's unorthodox inspection.

Morrigan fingered the cover. "Mother assumed it lost... I never thought to see it again. The book holds many, many secrets. With this, I can become much more powerful, and perhaps the duty I mentioned will not be as necessary as I was led to believe." Businesslike, she stood and rummaged through her pack. "I do not have much, but I will give you this in exchange." The witch thrust a silver bracelet at the Warden.

Lyra blinked in surprise. "Uh - I... don't need anything in exchange. Consider it a gift."

The witch's brow lowered in suspicion. "You do not wish an exchange of favors?"

"Has no one ever given you a gift?" Lyra asked, amazed.

Morrigan paused, her arm withdrawing the bauble. "Gifts carry... obligation."

"Well this one doesn't," Lyra said firmly. "Trust me. I know what you mean - too many people have tried to buy me with gifts."

Morrigan's gaze rolled between the book and the bracelet. "I confess, I am not sure what to do."

"Usually, you just say thank you," Lyra said with a grin. "Friends give each other gifts sometimes, just for fun or as a gesture of kindness."

"...I thank you, for this fine gift," Morrigan said uncertainly.

"You're quite welcome, Morrigan." Lyra turned to go, but looked back when the witch spoke again.

"Is that what we are? ...friends?" Her tone was flat, as if she didn't really expect an affirmative.

For six words, the question carried incredible weight. _Are we? _Lyra wondered. The woman was self-important, mocking, and prickly as a hedgehog. Hardly qualities one looked for in a companion, much less anything closer. But when she looked on Morrigan's face, the vulnerability revealed beneath the layers of bluster made her answer easy.

"Of course."

Morrigan gave a slow nod, then whirled and walked off into the darkness.

Sighing, Lyra turned and slogged back to the big fire. Hopefully, she'd made a difference, though only time would tell.

.oOo.

Leliana's knife sliced the roast, flicking away bits of char. A chunk fell to the ground as she carved, and she tossed it to Kestrel.

"He isn't back," Lyra fretted. One hand rose to her mouth, and Leliana heard the telltale _click_ of fingernails against teeth.

Cool as rain, Leliana handed another slice of roast to Sten. She knew quite well where Alistair had gone, and had a fair idea of why he hadn't returned. "Eat. He'll come back soon."

Lyra shook her head, refusing dinner. It was a mark of how upset she was. Leliana observed covertly as Lyra's distressed eyes flitted to Wynne, then landed on Alistair's bedroll across the fire. His sword and shield lay pell-mell atop the fabric. Except for the hunting knife that never left his belt, wherever he was, he was unarmed.

Leliana took a serene bite of roast.

Lyra stood suddenly and stalked to her bedroll, fastening herself into her armor. It took her only a few focused minutes, her determined movements protested by none. Once done, she snatched up her sword and dagger. "I'm going to find him. Kestrel - come!" Without another word, she jogged toward the woods, the war dog at her side.

A private smile upped the corners of Leliana's mouth. She wasn't blind to the recent distance that yawned between Lyra and Alistair; time alone together was just what the two of them needed to mend fences. Leliana had an inkling of what resided at the heart of the issue, but it was confirmed a moment later when she looked at their mage.

Wynne's hands had stilled, frozen as she observed the Warden's flight. She'd been crushing dried herbs into a small bowl, her forehead knotted as she watched Lyra's inner struggle. Though Lyra had said nothing about Wynne, Leliana had seen enough to draw her own conclusions.

"Don't you think it's lovely, Wynne?" Leliana said with a smile.

The mage startled, giving her a sharp look. Her tense shoulders rounded a moment later, resignation settling over her features. "Both of them are going to get hurt."

"Oh, I don't know." Leliana stretched her hands above her head, turning her neck to ease a crimp. "I think it's rather special... the two of them, so obviously right for each other, banding together to save the world."

"I agree," Zevran said.

Leliana threw him a grin, silently blessing him for his input.

The mage made no reply, but lowered her face to her task again.

"Were you ever in love, Wynne?" Leliana asked casually.

Wynne did not look up. She was silent for a moment, then said, "Yes. He was taken from me, though."

Leliana frowned. "That's a shame. I was in love once, too. But she betrayed me, and tried to have me killed."

Wynne chuckled, but the sound died on her lips as she raised her face to look at the bard. "You're serious."

"Of course," Leliana said, all innocence.

"Then tell me. Why are you so charmed by something that has little chance of ending well?" Wynne asked.

Leliana smiled. "Because they are not me, and they are not you, and our hurts are not theirs."

.oOo.

Alistair slumped against a tree, his head tipping back to hit the bark. _Damn it!_ Nothing looked familiar. He wasn't _that_ bad at tracking, but he'd paid less than no attention to his route, and without Kestrel...

At least he had his pants. And no one had died.

Yet.

"Just quit moving," he muttered. "You're not helping anyone by stumbling around in the dark. Let them come to you."

Leliana knew he'd gone to find Lyra. She'd send a search party eventually.

Keyword being, _eventually._

Alistair groaned. Lyra and Leliana had become as close as sisters. And with his luck, Leliana would leave him out here for a good long time before she sent _anyone_ looking for him.

The moon glimmered in the stardust sky. Alistair lowered himself to the ground, resigning himself to a long wait. His stomach growled, and he wondered if his roast had burned.

Ten minutes later he was tracking through the woods again, but this time, his eyes scanned the ground for something different. "Aha," he muttered, spotting the silvery creek he'd heard earlier.

.oOo.

Naked, tied to a branch and dangling from his ankle.

_Unlikely,_ she thought as she jogged, her eyes picking through the undergrowth. _Not unless Darkspawn climb trees._

Stripped of armor, his clothing torn and bloody, shoes missing.

_Why would his shoes be missing? There!_ A snapped branch pointed the way, and Kestrel barked with excitement as he tore off through the brush.

Lyra's mind had been constructing scenarios as she tracked. Some ridiculous, some frightening, all involving Alistair hurt, lost, cold and hungry. Her overactive imagination had invented broken legs, fire ants, deep pits, poisoned thorns, and a melange of other minor horrors that inflicted everything from discomfort to death.

Torment at bestial hands, his flesh peeled away in long, careful strips.

_Knock it off, Lyra!_

A flicker of brightness through the trees, and Lyra slowed. "Kestrel..." she murmured. "What-"

Her mabari gave her no time to think, but took off like a shot, barking madly. She leapt after him, ducking wayward twigs that scraped her body as she forged a path behind her dog. Stumbling out of the thicket, she came to a screeching halt when she saw Kestrel bound up to the object of her search.

Alistair sat before a cheerful fire, a fat pair of trout roasting over the flames.

"Kestrel! Hey!" The Warden grinned as he caught the mabari in a hug. "You found me!"

"What in the Maker's name are you doing?!" Lyra cried. She stomped forward in disbelief. Not only was he safe, but he looked perfectly comfortable - and he had _dinner?! _Her own stomach howled with the inequity of it, his safety bringing her appetite roaring back with a vengeance.

"Waiting." He rose to his feet with a frown. "I got hungry."

"What do you mean, _waiting?_"

"Waiting for someone to find me. I figured that was better than getting myself more lost." Alistair brushed his hands off, a touch of his former sneer flickering over his face. "Didn't anyone ever tell you that's what you're _supposed_ to do if you're lost?"

Lyra's fingers combed into her hair, gripping the top of her scalp in frustration. "Do you have any idea how worried I was about you? And you're just sitting here, cooking _fish?!"_

"What else was I supposed to do?" Alistair scowled, his voice rising to meet hers. "I can take care of myself, you know. You don't have to _nursemaid_ me all the time."

"Yes I do!" she shrieked, beside herself.

"You-" Alistair began, a puzzled frown on his face.

"Because I love you!"

The words were out before she could stop them. They hung in the air like smoke, shading the moment in as-yet unknowable ways. Lyra bit her lip, cursing her lack of finesse. Somehow, she doubted the elven assassin had expected her to tell Alistair like _that_.

.oOo.

Alistair froze, the tirade stilled on his lips before it could begin.

"I love you," she said again, the words more controlled this time. "And I can't stand it that we're apart, and I have no idea what tomorrow holds, but - Alistair, I _love_ you."

Three steps was all it took to close the distance, his arms covetous as he scooped her into them. A desperate moan lifted as lips melded, the kiss rough and demanding. Breath came heavy as they dove into each other, the cooling tears on Lyra's cheeks more achingly sweet than anything he'd ever imagined.

"Lyra," he whispered when they parted, his fingers kneading into her braids. "I love you, too."

A gladdened sob fell from her throat as she claimed his mouth again.

"See?" he murmured gently a moment later, his nose circling hers. "Was that so hard?"


	24. Warm Bodies

**Chapter 22  
>Warm Bodies<strong>

The trout was flaky and light, seasoned with nothing but hunger, and Lyra gobbled every bite with unabashed greed.

Sitting close enough that their legs touched, Alistair chuckled. "You missed dinner for me. I can't get over it."

"Well, it won't happen again, so enjoy the feeling," Lyra mumbled through her food. Tilting her head to rest upon his shoulder, she popped another morsel into her mouth.

"So, Wynne said we shouldn't be together," Alistair mused. He'd given her the larger of the two fish, and his was already eaten. Scooting behind her, he gathered her in to rest on his chest, his arms circling her shoulders.

Lyra cuddled into him gladly. "I shouldn't have let her disapproval get to me... but Alistair, she _watches_ us. And Wynne reminds me so much of my mother..." she sighed, picking at the trout. "It's made me feel like maybe my mother wouldn't approve of us."

"Well, I _am_ a commoner," Alistair joked. "From what you've told me, she seemed to want you to marry well."

Amusement tugged at Lyra's mouth as she chewed and swallowed. Commoner. Right. _If my mother knew you were Maric's son, she'd be courting you like mad,_ she thought. "Wynne also said we were Grey Wardens first, that one of us could die in the line of duty, or... she said you might have to take the throne. She knows who you are."

Alistair's arms tightened around her, sudden tension molding his shoulders. Lyra reached up to take his hand and give it a squeeze.

"Whoever would put me on the throne would be an idiot," he muttered into her hair. "Eamon's got just as much claim as I have, and he'd be a much better choice."

The fire crackled, a smattering of sparks drifting up into the black night. Lyra wondered about Alistair's convictions that he'd be a failure as a monarch. It was true that he was inexperienced, but his heart was good. The rest could be learned, if only he'd try.

A sigh lifted behind her. "Those are worries for the future," Alistair said at last. "Today's all we've got. And it's all I care about."

"One day at a time," she agreed, settling herself a bit closer. Their trials were far from over, but she would keep Alistair at her side as long as fate allowed. The decision eased an inner tautness, a final coil of rigidity relaxing away.

Alistair sighed with contentment as he nestled her into his chest. "I wonder how many other people know about me. Here I thought it was a big secret."

"I never knew," Lyra commented. "And if my parents did, they never said a word. They were well-placed in Ferelden's hierarchy, too. King Maric often consulted with my father about various things." The fish was gone. Lyra cleaned her fingers on Alistair's handkerchief, then tucked it back into her belt pouch. "We should get back, I suppose."

"Should we?" His lips grazed her ear, warm breath ghosting over her skin.

Her eyes closed, a flame kindling deep in her belly. Liquid fire snaked through her, the light tracings of Alistair's fingers setting every nerve ablaze. Turning, she stretched up to snag his mouth. "We should," she whispered, "but let's not."

Hazel eyes drifted shut as Alistair slanted over her, guiding her down to the grassy sward. Lyra breathed him in, their lips joining in a languid kiss. A cool breeze played over their heated skin as his fingers cupped the back of her neck, thumb tracing her jawline. Instinctively, she arced into him, fingers curling into his hair. Alistair's arm curved beneath her body, the kiss ending with his growl as metal and leather chestpieces prevented contact.

"Damn this armor," he muttered. "I can't _feel_ you."

Lyra reached for the buckles at the shoulders of his splintmail as she claimed his mouth again. At her waist, Alistair's hand tightened, his breath catching as her intent was made clear. She giggled, his obvious desire thrilling.

Impatient, Alistair pulled back, sitting up and unstrapping the mail at his sides. Lyra followed him up, her eager hands assisting. Soon they stood, the better to reach each other. Pauldrons and vambraces followed cuirasses, each piece littering the grass as armor was stripped away. It became a game, the two of them laughing as hands tangled in the various fasteners and buckles. Lyra's heart sang with anticipation... she wanted nothing more than to feel his body pressed against hers. The days apart, sprinkled with stolen moments of passion, had only strengthened her longing for him.

When all that remained were tunics and breeches, her hands sought the hem of his shirt, urging it upward and over his head. "Uh - are you sure you want to do that?" he questioned when she tossed his garment to the ground. "It's cold out here..."

She hushed him with another kiss, her fingers tracing the planes of his chest. Breath quickening, she guided his hands to her own hemline, assisting him in raising it over her head. The fabric slid away, a wash of goosebumps lifting on her skin as his nervous eyes swept over her.

Lyra's pulse thrummed in her ears. Alistair's movements had slowed, and despite his joking confidence of before, now he looked... apprehensive. Her tunic crumpled in his fingers, the cloth clutched into a tight ball as his eyes edged upward over her now revealed body. This was more female skin than he'd likely ever seen... but for her breastband, she was nude from the waist up.

She swallowed her own uncertainty. One truth existed, here and now. She loved him. There was one way to show it. "Touch me," she whispered, stepping into him once more. "Please."

Lifting her face to his, she brushed a kiss over his mouth, her fingers feathering along his jaw. The tunic slipped from his hands to land at their feet, and Alistair trembled as his arms stole around her, the heat that radiated from his body shocking in the frigid night air. Lyra ached for his hands on her flesh, her mind begging him to find the courage to begin.

Pulling him down, she stretched herself below him on the grass, her hand finding his wrist and guiding it. Lashes brushed his cheek as she moved his hand to her shrouded breast, their kiss pausing as she stared into his eyes. He was so hesitant, a touch of fear wrinkling his brow. "Touch me," she invited once more, her hand curling around his.

A shuddering breath left him as he dipped in to kiss her again, his hand squeezing the softness of her breast at last. A whimper of fulfillment fell from Lyra, her ardor dizzying as his touch rushed through her. Molten rapture sang in her veins, the pleasure she took from his caress outweighing any further hesitation. Starved hands cascaded over his body, adoring the silken feel of skin on skin. Trailing lower, she slowed as her fingers grazed his thigh, finding a steely outline, concrete evidence that his arousal was as great as her own.

Alistair jumped at her light touch, their kiss ending abruptly. Were it not for the darkness that surrounded them, his face would likely be red as a tomato. Lyra giggled, biting her lip as he gave her a mock glare. In answer, she coasted her hand along his length and squeezed through the cloth, delighting in the shiver that rocked through him.

A muted groan rumbled in his chest as Alistair crushed his mouth to hers, devouring her with lips and tongue. Lyra melted into him, her body thirsting for his. He was water, lifegiving, more than just something she wanted. She _had_ to have him.

She gasped when he broke suddenly from her, his head snapping up to scan the treeline. The intensity on his face shocked her, and she went still, her ears tuned to the night.

"What is it?" she dared to whisper when he didn't move.

"Stay here," he breathed, the words softer than air as he pushed to his feet. From their pile of armor, he retrieved her slim sword and tip-toed into the trees.

Lyra's heart raced. Near the fire, Kestrel hadn't moved, the stick he'd found to gnaw shredding in his sharp teeth. _Darkspawn_, she thought, fear churning her stomach. It had to be. But how close, and how many?

The snap of a twig made her jump, but Alistair appeared out of the darkness a few moments later. Her sword glistened with ichor.

"Get dressed," he said brusquely. "We need to get back. I just killed a Genlock - a Darkspawn scout."

.oOo.

The watch was doubled.

During their midnight turn at guard, Alistair assured her the hoard was nowhere close to the camp. "It was a lone scout, maybe even lost - but it's silly to take chances."

"Why couldn't_ I _feel it?" Lyra asked, perplexed. What good was being a Warden if she lacked Alistair's preternatural sense?

"You're still green is all. It took me about a month before I started feeling them. Cherish the time you have left without the sense... it makes me feel nauseous," Alistair said in a wry voice.

"When you jumped up like that... I don't know. I thought you might be running away," Lyra teased.

"From you? Are you kidding? I couldn't run from you if my life depended on it." Alistair dimpled as he put an arm around her, drawing her close enough to press a kiss to her temple.

"We can't do that again. Not here in the camp," she said.

"It's too dangerous, I agree. But Maker, this is difficult," Alistair sighed. "I'm beginning to understand what all the lads were always talking about. You've got no idea how glad I am that I never took my templar vows. Not that all of them are... um... as_ celibate _as they're supposed to be. I hear there are brothels that do excellent templar business."

"I thought templars could get married?" Lyra asked. "Surely they aren't _all_ celibate."

"No, that's true. But it's a different kind of service. Sort of like Leliana being ordained as a lay sister in the Chantry... no vows of chastity or poverty or any of that. They can even marry and have families. As for me, the Revered Mother was determined that I would take full vows. I think it must have been to ensure I wouldn't try and procreate... make any more inconvenient little royals." He stirred the fire with a stick, then sighed. "The purpose was accomplished, anyway, I suppose. Grey Wardens don't have children."

Lyra mulled this over. Earlier, with their bodies pressed so close together, the last thing she'd been thinking of earlier had been children - yet, if the two of them weren't Wardens, and the Genlock hadn't interrupted them…

She'd never expected to be intimate with anyone before she married. It simply wasn't_ done_ among the nobility. She suspected the stricture wasn't adhered to among the men - but for ladies, indiscretions could have agonizing consequences. It was never worth the chance.

But now, she wasn't noble. Not really. Grey Wardens had no titles. And what did it matter - she'd never conceive, anyway. Even without Alistair telling her about Warden sterility, she'd have suspected something was off. The regular date for her monthly courses had come and gone, with nothing unusual to mark the day; even her usual stomachache had been absent. Her body had been changed, and there was no going back. Lyra suspected she might never suffer 'the woman's curse' ever again.

Which meant that if she and Alistair... _did, _there would be no risk.

It was freeing... if saddening. Lyra lifted her eyes to the man who held her. With King Cailan dead, Alistair was the last of the Theirins, just as she was the last of the Couslands. _It's the end of an era_, she thought, her heart heavy. Ages of legacy, scattered like so many ashes.

And now, who would sit the throne?

_Not Loghain. And not Anora. She's got no claim to it,_ Lyra mulled.

"Hey," Alistair said gently, giving her a shake. "You're thinking awful hard over there."

She blinked. "Sorry." She gave a slight laugh. "I got lost in my thoughts."

"Of food, I bet," Alistair grinned. "Want more roast?"

Her stomach, as always, was happy to accept the meat he sliced for her. But her mind continued to whirl as she ate. "You know, Alistair... I think you'd make a great king," Lyra told him eventually.

He shot her a strange look. "You've met me, haven't you?"

She chuckled. "Yes, and I _still _think you've got the makings of a ruler. You've got so many wonderful qualities. I was raised to nobility. I can see it in you. Blood will tell, they say."

He snorted. "Yes, well. It's the last thing I want. I'll do everything in my power to see that particular onus land on someone else's shoulders."

She was silent for a moment, then said, "We'll be meeting Goldanna in a few days."

He brightened at this, and they continued to talk quietly until Sten relieved them for the third watch.

.oOo.

The days crept by as the Bannorn gave way to the low hills of South Reach, then to the cultivated fields just outside the capital. From sunup to sundown, Lyra and Alistair held themselves carefully distant, doing their best to maintain a professional front before their fellows.

But under the cover of darkness, sparks flew.

The second watch, once so loathed, became the most desirable time of the day. It always began innocently... kisses, cuddles, idle chat about any number of things. But each night they grew bolder; hands seeking pleasure in unexplored places, mouths whispering sweet words and caressing bared skin.

Each night, it grew more difficult to keep things in check. By day, Lyra treaded a sea of anticipation, her body aching for Alistair's touch. Even his eyes held more power over her than she'd ever thought possible, his teasing glances setting her aflame throughout their daily marches. When the moon crested the sky, hearts beat fast with the thrill of love awakened... if not consummated.

Now they marched through the gates of Denerim, the week-long journey at an end. Alistair wove his hand into hers as they walked over the cobbles... and with a hesitant smile, Lyra let him, savoring his delight when she didn't pull away.

"I have never seen such a collection of merchants and people before. 'Tis always so?" Morrigan's curious eyes roamed the market.

"They say you can get anything here. I once got pick-pocketed," Alistair replied.

Over the last few days, the witch and the templar had kept their usual antagonism in check. It seemed her talks with both of them had done worlds of good. Now, most of what they said to each other was more amusing than biting.

"Brother Genitivi's home is supposed to be... yes, down here. It's close to the Wonders of Thedas shop," Alistair said as they walked through the marketplace. "Arl Eamon bought me a golem doll there once. When I was young. Really young," he added when Zevran smirked at him.

The walk to Brother Genitivi's home was short, and soon Lyra rapped on the door.

A cautious male voice called through to them. "Who is it?"

"We're looking for Brother Genitivi. May we come in, please?" Lyra asked into the solid wood of the door.

There was a pause, and then the door opened to reveal a young man with dark hair. "Please, come in," he said quietly. Lyra and her party piled inside, eager to have finally reached their destination.

Their host looked taken aback at so many visitors. Nervous hands scrubbed his thighs. "Brother Genitivi isn't here at the moment... well, he hasn't been here for months, actually," he said.

"Months? Where's he gone?" Leliana asked.

"He went seeking the Urn of Sacred Ashes. I wish he hadn't done that, it's brought nothing but trouble," the young man said.

"I'm sorry," Alistair interrupted. "If this is Brother Genitivi's home, and he's not here, that would make you...?"

"Oh! Sorry. Weylon. My name is Weylon. I'm his assistant." Weylon hung back, offering them no other greetings.

Clearly, they weren't wanted. But they'd come all this way... he could put up with them a bit longer. "Weylon. Nice to meet you." Lyra introduced her companions. Kestrel growled against her leg, and she shushed him.

"As I said, Brother Genitivi isn't here. So, if you'll just be on your way..." Weylon urged.

But Lyra refused to be ushered out so easily. "We need some information, Weylon. We seek the Urn, as well. Please, can you tell us anything that would help?"

Weylon's thick brows lowered as he shook his head. "No. I really shouldn't. It will only get you killed."

"We're willing to take that chance," Lyra replied. "Please?"

Weylon's eyes surveyed them, lingering on Sten and Alistair and their swords. Kestrel growled a bit louder, and Lyra mauled his head against her leg. "I guess I can tell you where he was going," Weylon said slowly. "He said he would begin his search at Lake Calenhad."

"Wonderful. Thank you, Weylon. We'll go there," Lyra said, keeping one hand on her hound.

But Kestrel shook her off and padded to a closed door across the room. One paw lifted to scratch at it, teeth baring as he growled again.

"Kestrel..." An apology was on her lips as she marched across the room to nab her willful dog. But then her eyes narrowed as she recalled the episode in the larder with the rats. Kestrel was smart enough to know when something wasn't right. Making a snap decision, she turned back to Weylon. "What are you hiding in there?"

His face went white, and suddenly Morrigan and Wynne whipped their staves into action. The scent of crackling ozone filled the air, and Lyra was thrown to the edge of the room as a bolt of lightning split the atmosphere in two. She gasped with pain as her head cracked against the wall, every muscle seizing with electric shock. Yells, screams... worried words, gentle hands. Lyra swallowed, struggling to open her eyes and find her voice. The sudden smell of cooking meat struck her nose, and then her screaming muscles relaxed with the cool wash of Wynne's healing.

"The magic began too quickly. I couldn't stop him... I apologize, Lyra," Wynne said, her voice regretful.

Lyra dragged her eyes open to find Alistair and Wynne kneeling over her, the mage's hands alight with golden ambiance. She swallowed, then tried to speak. Her tongue seemed to have swollen to twice its normal size, and the words came out slurred and thick. "Not your fault, Wynne... don't worry about it."

Behind Alistair, what looked like a bonfire danced in the middle of the planked floor. He took her hand, his brows creased with concern.

"What happened?" Lyra managed, her tongue calming as more of Wynne's healing laved over her.

"Weylon's a mage," Alistair growled. "I should have known. He seemed sketchy, but I just didn't think."

She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Why's there a fire?"

"Morrigan toasted him. He's history."

"All in a day's work," the wilder woman said as she lazed over to them. "We can't have Alistair's favorite Warden fried alive now, can we?"

Words failed her as Alistair helped her to stand, saving her from an ungainly tumble as her knees wobbled. Morrigan's cool eyes observed them before she sauntered away, her hips shifting in a scandalous pattern.

"She's all... helpful. When did that happen?" Lyra asked.

"She _did _just get to kill someone with fire, don't forget." Alistair's eyes twinkled at her, making Lyra chuckle.

At the door across the room, Kestrel whined, his nails scraping the grimed wood.

"Glad to see you came rushing to my rescue, mutt," she snarked. The mabari threw her a pained look.

The group gathered behind her as she tried the door and found it locked. The mechanism looked a bit more complex than what she was used to. "Zev, can you open this?" she asked.

The assassin sauntered forward and inspected the door. "It is locked, yes?" he said at last.

"...Yes," she said. "Didn't you say you could pick locks?"

"Well, yes. Yes I did. Let me just take another look..." Zevran crouched and peered at the keyhole. From his pouch he pulled a long, thin rod, unlike any she'd ever seen before.

Lyra crossed her arms, impatience mounting as he lined up the rod with the keyhole, then pulled it away again with halting movements.

"You know, it is a funny thing. My Antivan lockpicks don't seem to match up with this Fereldan keyhole."

"Use mine," she said, unhooking the tool from her belt.

Hesitant hands took it from her. Zevran peered at the lock once more, then said, "You know, it is a funny thing-"

"Get out of the way," she snapped. Taking her lockpick back, she knelt and began moving the tumblers, listening for the telltale clicks that would indicate success.

"That's right, I forgot you could do that," Alistair commented. "You were going to tell me about where you learned."

"Oh... Fergus and I both learned," she said absentmindedly, her focus on the lock. "There was a young guard in our house who'd been recruited off the street, and he taught us. We used to sneak into the larder at night to get cookies. It was a game, mostly."

"Ahhh," Alistair said. "I should have known. You're a cookie thief!"

She giggled, then grinned in triumph as the door clicked open.

"I most certainly_could_ have done that," Zevran said.

"Uh-huh," Alistair replied.

From the now open doorway, a horrific smell greeted their noses.

"Ugh. What crawled in there and died?" Leliana asked, her delicate nose crinkling.

Lyra clumped Alistair's handkerchief to her face and made her way into the room. In one corner was a bloodstained sheet, the epicenter of the odor. "Nothing crawled in... but something was most definitely dragged in." Steeling her nerves, she reached for the sheet and pulled it back.

Weylon's face stared back at her, his mouth fallen open in a perpetual scream. Weeks of decay had petrified his features, the skin blackened with rot.

With an unholy shriek, Lyra dropped the sheet and tore from the room, her heart pounding its way out of her chest. Alistair caught her in his arms as she flew past. "What in the void is in there?!" he demanded

Lyra shook with fright. It was one thing to see a dead body. It was another to see the dead body of _someone they'd just immolated_. "Weylon is in there," she trembled.

"What? But we just-"

"I know. But it's him."

"A spell," Wynne said, understanding it first. "The man we just killed wasn't the real Weylon. That was the real Weylon... and this was an imposter."

"Oh, Maker. _Why_?" Shivers rocked through Lyra as the horror of what she'd just seen sank in a little deeper.

"To hide something, no doubt. Perhaps we can discover what it was."

Wynne entered the room and did... _something_... to the body, and the smell began to clear out. The thought of going back into the room scared Lyra senseless, so Leliana and Zevran ventured in while the rest of the group waited without.

"There isn't much," Leliana said a few moments later as they rejoined the others.

"But look at this." Zevran paged through a small book bound in brown leather. "I think this is Genitivi's journal."

He handed it to Lyra, who opened it to the last entry. Beside the words was a hand-drawn map. "_Haven_," she murmured. "_A small town near the Western border of Ferelden, high in the mountains. I am certain this town holds the answers I seek._" She snapped it shut, growling with annoyance. "Bloody fantastic. By the looks of the map, it's at least a week's journey from here... fairly close to Redcliffe, actually. And we just came from there," she groaned in irritation.

"We could hire horses," Leliana suggested. "Then it would only be four or five days from here."

Lyra sighed. "Let's decide later. With Genitivi gone and Weylon dead, aside from this journal, we're at a dead end. For now, we have unfinished business in the city. Come on, everyone." Tucking the book into her belt, she marched to the door.

"Wait wait wait," Alistair said, catching her hand. "What business?"

"Loghain," she said crisply.

"Okay... look. I know you want to confront him-"

"I _have_ to," Lyra insisted. "You don't have to come with me. None of you," she said, turning to the room. "This might be better for me to do on my own, anyway."

"What?!" Alistair scowled. "Do you really think we'd let you do that? What do you plan to do - march up to the palace and demand to see him? That's a great way to die," he said sarcastically.

"Like you have a better plan?" Lyra glared.

"_My_ plan involves us getting out of the city alive."

"And what is this brilliant plan, oh wise one?" Lyra crossed her arms. "Please, share it with us."

Alistair crossed his arms right back at her, his nose rising as he put on a look of comedic hurt. "Well, if you're going to take that tone."

"My flower, allow me to suggest a compromise, before the two of you rip each other's heads off," Zevran cut in.

"Fine. What?" Lyra rubbed her hands over her face.

"Allow me to... peruse the city. Pick up rumors. See if I can learn anything."

"That's a good idea," Alistair pounced on the notion. "_You_ go. We'll wait. Shall we meet you... oh, I don't know. Say, in the Gnawed Noble Tavern at sunset?"

"Very well. I shall return as soon as I am able," Zevran said. He snapped his heels and dipped his head.

Before he could walk off, Lyra signaled their Chantry sister. "Leliana, go with him, will you?"

"Of course." Leliana winked at Lyra and scurried to follow. Zevran offered her his arm, and Leliana took it with a smile.

"I wonder if he knows..." Alistair mused as the rest of them filed out of Genitivi's house.

"Knows?" Lyra asked.

"About Leliana. And her... history."

Lyra grinned at the thought of the assassin flirting with the pretty bard. "I'm sure Leliana will let him know if he tries anything."

The city streets were flush with life as Lyra turned to the rest of the group and pulled out her coin pouch. "Does anyone have anything they need to buy? We're in town now, and it might not be that way again for a few months... Why don't we all agree to meet back at the Gnawed Noble Tavern this evening for dinner?" Heads nodded all around, and the group drifted apart after Lyra passed out a bit of coin. She planned to do some shopping as well; upgrade her bedroll, purchase little luxuries like soap and a washcloth. And tonight, there would be a real bed, in an inn, with sheets and blankets and maybe a fireplace. The idea was too delicious.

She swallowed, her skin heating as she thought of the possibilities that went along with spending the night in a _real_ bed.

A shudder passed through her, and she gave herself a quick shake. Now was hardly the time for such distractions. Tucking the coin pouch away again, Lyra turned to Alistair. "Are you ready?"

"For..." he drawled.

"Meeting Goldanna."

Panic widened his eyes. "Was that today? I think it was tomorrow, wasn't it? I can't, I need to wash my hair. I've got somewhere else to be. She's probably out..."

Lyra chuckled at his discomfort. "Come _on_!" Hooking her hand in his, she dragged him through the square to the address Alistair had given her. It took only moments. "This is it... right? The address is right," Lyra said.

If one were to judge by the whites of Alistair's eyes, the door might as well have sported a sign that read, 'Here There Be Dragons'.

"What if she doesn't like me?" he muttered after a silent moment.

"How could she not like you?" Lyra kissed his cheek, then inspected him, trying to see him with an outsider's eyes. "You're absolutely the most wonderful thing on the planet, and if she doesn't adore you, I'll... punch her in the nose."

"Right. Let's just go." Alistair turned to leave, but Lyra grabbed his collar and knocked on the door.

After a moment, a rough female voice called "I'm comin', hold on!" The door was yanked open a breath later by a woman with red-gold hair. But aside from their hair color, she and Alistair might have been strangers. _She must take after her father, _Lyra hands were rough and reddened, but her clothing was crisp and neat, of sturdy make and fine fabric. A pleasant smile stretched her mouth, though it hardly touched her eyes, and a hard line between her eyebrows bespoke a habitual scowl. She appeared to be about ten years older than Alistair.

"You need washing done?" she asked. "I charge two bits on the bundle, you won't find better. And don't listen to that Natalia woman, she's foreign and she'll rob you blind." As she spoke, she lifted a cloth tucked into her waistband and wiped her hands.

"Washing? Oh, uh - no, I'm sorry, we're not here for that," Alistair stammered, then took a deep breath. "May we come in?"

The woman stared at him for a moment, then opened the door and allowed them to duck inside. "Not him." She pointed at Kestrel, and Lyra signaled for him to wait.

Inside it was dark compared to the bright market, and smelled of soap and water and linen. The furniture was old and worn, but everything was scrubbed clean. In a back room, children could be heard, rough-housing and playing.

The woman crossed her arms and looked at them expectantly. Alistair threw Lyra a desperate look, but she pressed her lips together as she nudged his elbow. Maker's breath, there was no way she was doing _this_ for him!

Alistair found his voice somehow. "Are you - are you Goldanna?"

"Yes, my name _is_ Goldanna," the woman replied, suspicion creasing her brow.

"Well, I'm Alistair, and this is Lyra... and I'm your brother," he finished lamely.

Goldanna scowled. "What are you on about?"

"No no, it's true!" Alistair rushed to reassure her. "I really am your brother. I was able to look up some records... your mother was a servant, right? At Arl Eamon's castle?"

Suddenly, Goldanna's eyes widened, and her hand flew to her mouth. "You!" she shouted. "They told me you was dead! They told me the babe died along with Mother, but I knew they was lying!"

"They told you I was dead?" Alistair said blankly. "Who did?"

"Them's at the castle. I told them the babe was the king's and they said he was dead. Gave me a coin to shut my mouth and sent me on my way! I knew it!" Triumph glittered in her eyes.

"Well, they got it wrong. The babe didn't die... I'm him. I'm your brother." Alistair's voice cracked, a hopeful smile upping his mouth.

Goldanna's eyes narrowed. "For all the good it does me," she snapped. "You killed mother, you did, and the coin didn't last long, and when I went back for more they ran me off!"

Alistair's glad look melted away, leaving only a youth who looked lost and afraid.

The vulnerability on his face woke Lyra's anger, and her mouth got ahead of her. "Don't speak to him like that," she flared. "It isn't his fault your mother died bearing him!"

Goldanna swaggered toward her, a bully staring down a rival. "And who's this? Some tart after your riches?"

Alistair sputtered, his eyes flashing as he stepped toward Goldanna. "Hey, don't talk to her that way. She's my friend, and a Grey Warden like me."

Sarcasm soaked Goldanna's words. "Ooh I see. A prince and a Grey Warden too. Well, who am I to think so poorly of someone so high and mighty compared to me? I don't know you, boy," she sneered. "Your royal father forced himself on my mother and what do I have to show for it? Nothing," she spat. "They tricked me good. I should have told everyone. I've got five mouths to feed and unless you can help with that, I got less than no use for you."

Lyra glowered, slipping her hand into Alistair's. Nothing would have pleased her more than to do as she'd threatened and drive her fist into Goldanna's jaw, but it would accomplish nothing, and might call unwanted attention down upon all of them.

"I just... Come on, Lyra, let's just get out of here," he mumbled.

"Go on, then. And don't think to come back less'n you got coin to help your family with!" she shouted after them.

Lyra's heart ached as they stepped back out into the sunshine of the marketplace. She laid a gentle hand on Alistair's arm, but he shrugged her off. Kestrel butted his head against Alistair's leg, whining softly.

"Alistair..." Lyra circled his waist with her arms and leaned her forehead against his back. "She's an awful bitch," she whispered.

"She's right. I did kill my mother," Alistair said in a hoarse voice.

"Bullshit!" she growled.

Alistair shifted away, turning around to pin her with a wide-eyed stare. Lyra sighed - she'd seen the look before. Roughly, it translated to 'You didn't really just say that, did you?' Somehow, people always thought she didn't know how to curse.

"She's an awful person, Alistair. All she wants is money. I'm sorry I _didn't _punch her in the nose," Lyra continued in a hard voice. "Maker knows she deserved it."

"I just... I just thought family took care of each other," Alistair said quietly.

"She isn't family. You, me... we're family, and I will _always _take care of you. See if I don't." Her hands found his, clasping tight. "Alistair, I love you. Goldanna is an unholy bitch who deserves a load of dragon dung to be dropped on her."

Alistair nodded, faint mirth touching his face. "I guess some people are just out for themselves, aren't they?"

"They really are," Lyra agreed. "Goldanna's the worst kind. You didn't make her that way, but there she is, and there are a million others just like her in the world. Some of the things I saw, watching my father listen to petitions... it's disgusting, what some people think they deserve, and what they try to get away with." She squeezed his hands, hesitating before she continued. "You're too sweet, Alistair. Too kind. You think too well of people. It's a weakness that will only end up hurting you... you can't let yourself be used that way."

Alistair sighed, turning away as his eyes shut tight. "Come on, let's go."

Lyra threaded her fingers through Alistair's as they walked to the Gnawed Noble Tavern. He barely held on, his grip loose and distant as he trudged at her side. _Maker forgive me, _she thought, her heart bleeding_. Alistair is too good for this black pit of a world we live in._


	25. The Merchant and The Pearl

**Chapter 23  
>The Merchant and The Pearl<strong>

"Bodahn Feddic, at your service!" The cheerful dwarf gripped a tankard full of a dark, foaming brew, his other hand held out to shake.

With a glance at her seatmate, Lyra accepted the dwarf's meaty grip. Alistair hadn't responded, his brooding eyes drowning in his own tankard. He'd said maybe six words since they'd entered the Gnawed Noble two hours previous, and Lyra had taken to talking to the folks around them out of sheer boredom.

"Me 'n ma boy Sandal, we're merchants," the dwarf continued. "Travelin' men, that's us! How about you?"

"Mercenaries for hire," she said, continuing the facade she and Alistair had agreed upon.

"Plenty of work to be had, for the right people. Got any references?"

"Yes... you should see this lovely woman gut a Darkspawn. Navel to nose," Zevran said as he swaggered up. He perched on a stool beside Lyra, who quirked an eyebrow at him. Zevran gave her a quick grin, then launched into a story of daring escapes and fantastic maneuvers, spinning a slightly taller tale than might have been necessary. By the end, Bodahn was fit to be tied, and his son was laughing and clapping his hands.

"Good story!" the young dwarf chuckled in a rather dense voice.

Bodahn clapped his son on the shoulder with real warmth. "Seeing as you're so formidable, perhaps I might be able to hire you? We're traveling to Orzammar soon. Leaving tomorrow, in fact, and I haven't found anyone who's willing to go along with us."

"Orzammar... that's a long trip, isn't it?" Lyra asked, sipping her cup of mead.

"Indeed it is, miss. Four weeks by fully loaded wagon, which moves about the same speed as a healthy dwarf can march. But with the Darkspawn threat I'm afraid it might take even longer. I've got a full load... two wagons crammed with spices, cloth, pins and needles, pots and pans, sugar, salt, everything the outposts need and can't get from Denerim unless they make the trip themselves. I make this run twice a year, selling my wares to the folks across Ferelden and trading for more along the way. When I get to Orzammar, my wagons are stuffed with what the Dwarves need, and they trade me metal, gems and lyrium. Then I bring it all back to Denerim and begin again. It's a good life, if a bit dangerous, but no profit without a little risk, right? So, what do you say? It's steady work, and I can give you meals plus a copper a day."

Lyra hid her face behind her cup in amusement. If she were actually a mercenary, it might actually be a good offer. But this was where the facade had to end. "I wish we could, Bodahn, but-"

"We'll take the job," Alistair cut in.

She swiveled her head at him, shocked. "We will?" In her surprise at his sudden return to life, she didn't think to object.

"Absolutely." Interest stirred in his eyes as he turned toward her. "We've been planning to go to Orzammar anyway, right? Along the way, we can look for the Dalish, and make any other stops as necessary. And how can we deny our swords to this fine dwarf?" He grinned at Bodahn.

"Excellent!" Bodahn said happily. "I'll be happy to give you a discount on anything you might need from my wares." The merchant outlined details about where to meet his caravans the following morning, describing a meeting place a mile or so from the city gates. Alistair promised they would be there shortly after sunup. The dwarf shook their hands, and bustled off to finish his preparations.

Lyra stared at Alistair, who swirled his drink and tossed back a mouthful. Next he reached for a loaf of crusty bread, tearing off a piece and spreading it thick with butter before devouring it in two bites.

"Zevran, would you excuse us?" she asked.

The elf hopped from his the stool and sauntered over to a pair of ladies who'd been whispering and giggling in his direction for the last few minutes.

"We're mercenaries now? I mean, for real, not just as a story in Denerim?" Lyra questioned Alistair.

Alistair tore off another hunk of bread. "Everything I said is true. And it's the perfect cover. Why would the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden travel with a merchant? Whoever is still looking for us will pass us on the road and not think twice. Darkspawn and honest bandits aside, of course."

She opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again. He was right.

"Plus," he went on, "I've been thinking about our camping arrangements. We have no tents, no good cooking equipment, no heavy clothing, only simple bedrolls and what we can carry on our backs. Bodahn has a wagon, mules. We can have a proper camp every night, better meals... it's a good idea."

"Now that you say it like that... I agree. It's a fantastic idea," Lyra said. "But we should tell him who we really are, and introduce him to the rest of the party. He might not want to travel with us once he knows what we're doing."

"Fair enough," Alistair said, then looked over his shoulder. The dwarf had not yet left the tavern, but was speaking with someone in another corner. Alistair caught his eye. After a few moments, the dwarf hurried over.

"Bodahn, we need to tell you something," Alistair began, his tone confident. "We're very excited about traveling with you and we have no doubt that we can protect your caravan, but we haven't been completely honest with you. We're not mercenaries, precisely."

Bodahn's cheerful face lined with suspicion, but he said nothing.

"We're Grey Wardens," Alistair continued, "traveling through Ferelden, uniting the land against the Blight. Your route happens to coincide with ours, which is why I took you up on the job you offered. It's not just us in our group, though... we have a battle mage and a healer mage, an ex-Chantry sister who can kill you with a dagger before you can blink, a qunari warrior, and a former assassin... who is presently womanizing, right over there."

Bodahn's eyes canted backward to absorb the sight of Zevran, who had captured one of the women's hands and was caressing it with his lips.

"And of course, Lyra, and myself, and our faithful mabari." From his place beneath their table, Kestrel gave a short yip. "Rather than the pay you've offered, perhaps we could ask that you make a small space in your wagon for some of our own supplies. Some tents, cooking equipment, that sort of thing - nothing large or bulky. You'll have seven - well, eight - excellent fighters, and if we have to go do other errands on our journey we'll leave some of them with you, to guard your wagons and ensure your safety. Does that sound fair?" Alistair asked.

Once again, Lyra found herself wordless. Alistair was talking like a leader, thinking strategically, and making deals for the whole group. She checked to make sure her mouth wasn't hanging open in amazement, but somehow it had stayed closed. Her eyebrows, however, threatened to rise off of her face.

Bodahn beamed, nodding eagerly. His expression had traveled the gamut during Alistair's speech, going from wary to overjoyed. "Grey Wardens! I would be honored to have you with me! Of course, of course - anything you need. I've always had a lot of admiration for you Wardens, the way you forge into the Deep Roads. And I'm glad to know _someone_ is doing something about the Darkspawn. Is the meeting time we discussed still good for tomorrow?"

"Yes, that'll be fine," Alistair said, shaking Bodahn's hand. "We'll see you tomorrow morning, then."

Bodahn was nearly dancing. "Real Wardens!" he exulted, then bustled out of the tavern with a delighted grin.

"Well, that's done," Alistair said as he reached for more bread. "Easy as pie." He buttered another slice, catching Lyra's stare at last. "What?"

"Where did this come from?" she asked faintly.

A short grin stretched his mouth before he crammed it full of bread. "What are you talking about?"

"This... leadership. You just made arrangements for our entire party with a dwarf you've never met before , and you did it so... so... _manfully_."

Alistair grinned from ear to ear as he chewed. "I was thinking. About what you said before, about my bitch of a sister." His mouth was full, and he swallowed before saying more. Reaching down, he took Lyra's hands in his. "You were right. I need to stand up for myself more than I have been. There are terrible people in the world, and if I don't look out for them I'll get eaten alive." His thumbs rubbed the back of her hands with a sheepish smile. "And I haven't been fair. You've been absolutely great through all of this. Making the decisions, arranging the watches. I'm the senior Warden, I should at _least_ contribute, and without whining. So... I decided to." His brow furrowed. "That's okay, isn't it?"

Lyra almost laughed to see the old, hesitant Alistair peeking out from behind this new, strong, confident Alistair. "It's more than okay. It's fantastic." She grinned, leaning in to wrap her arms around him. "I knew you had this in you," she whispered.

"I didn't. Not until about ten minutes ago!" he chuckled, then let her go gently. "Come on. Let's go take Bodahn up on his offer and get some new supplies before everyone gets back. We need some heavy duty camping equipment!"

.oOo.

"Interesting," Morrigan drawled. "We've gone from refugees to hired thugs."

"Mercenaries, Morrigan," Alistair corrected.

She waved her hand negligently. "'Tis much the same thing."

"I think it's wonderful," Leliana said with sparkling eyes. "What a good idea you had, Alistair."

He crimsoned, but then a serving girl began to pile food on the table, and everyone was blissfully silent for a time. Lyra tossed Kestrel a ham bone and he retreated to a corner, happily gnawing.

Conversation slowly began again as people ate and drank their fill. Morrigan and Sten talked quietly, as did Leliana and Zevran. Lyra couldn't have been happier. The new plan was going to benefit them all, and there'd been no arguments or doubts from the others. Already she could feel the tension bleeding from her shoulders, and on a whim she brushed Alistair's cheek with a kiss. He grinned like a fool, charmed at her small public display. By now they'd discussed her feelings about affection in front of others, and he understood her hesitancy.

Wynne leaned forward then, catching their attention. Lyra's stomach flipped, simmering with quiet dread. She moistened her lips, steeling herself. _It doesn't matter what Wynne thinks_, she told herself as she threaded her fingers with Alistair's. _It doesn't matter. _He squeezed her hand, but didn't stop eating.

"I want to tell you something, young Wardens," the mage began.

Lyra's heart pounded as cold sweat broke over her.

"I think you are very lucky to have each other."

Alistair's hand froze, his fork still in his mouth as he stared at the healer in surprise. Lyra's pulse jumped, hope flooding her veins.

"I apologize for what I said before. I was wrong. You may not have each other forever, or even for more than a few days... but that's no reason not to love each other while you can. You have found something very beautiful. Treasure it," Wynne told them warmly, one hand reaching across the table to clasp Lyra's.

Tears welled as Lyra squeezed the elder's fingers. "Thank you, Wynne," she whispered. A weight she hadn't known was on her shoulders lifted, leaving her lighter than air. Alistair curved his arm around Lyra and kissed her temple, and Wynne smiled.

"Oh, go on. You two are making me absolutely ill." Morrigan wrinkled her nose.

"Two birds with one stone. How can I resist?" Before she could stop him, Alistair drew Lyra in and kissed her deeply, uncaring of the audience that surrounded them. Lyra's cheeks heated as Zevran cat-called and Leliana clapped her hands, but then she gave up and kissed him back, her arms winding around his neck to the tune of whoops of delight. When their kiss ended, Lyra found the room full of smiles; even Morrigan didn't look as disgusted as she claimed. Only Sten seemed less than amused, but then, he usually seemed less than amused. Wynne's smile was a warm beam of sunlight, and Lyra could almost feel her mother's approval shining down from the Heavens.

"Much more of that and the inn will burn down around our ears," Leliana teased.

Lyra grinned at her as she cuddled into Alistair's protective arm, tucking a loose tendril of hair behind her ear as he resumed eating with his other hand.

Their elven assassin cleared his throat. "The errand you sent me on earlier. Would you hear my report?"

"What did you find out?" Lyra asked eagerly.

Zevran unsheathed a dagger and set its point upon the table, his fingers dandling the handle as he spoke. "Loghain is not in Denerim at the moment. He is traveling to Amaranthine, to the ancestral home of his compatriot Arl Howe, and will be gone for at least another month. When he returns, a meeting of the nobles will be held, at which point the rumors say he intends to name himself regent. Cailan's widow, Anora, is sitting the throne right now, and not everyone is happy that her common ass is still there. They are crying out for royal blood." The knife twirled in his fingers. "In Antiva, this would be so simple. Someone would hire a Crow to kill Loghain and Anora, and then someone else would hire another Crow to kill someone else, and eventually there would be only one left standing to claim the throne. You Fereldans are so uncivilized."

Alistair rolled his eyes as he scooped the last bite onto his fork. Lyra slumped in her chair, her mouth twisting in disappointment. It seemed she would not face Loghain on this particular trip.

"Something else interesting, as well. Look at this." Zevran pulled a folded paper from his pocket and passed it over.

Lyra smoothed it out, and Alistair looked over her shoulder as she read aloud. _"Don't believe the lies! Friends of the Grey Wardens assemble. The hidden pearl holds the key to resistance. The griffins will rise again."_

The message was printed in simple block lettering, large enough to be read from a few feet away. "Where did you get this?" Lyra asked.

"It was stuck to a wall by the Alienage, but I saw several throughout Denerim. To be perfectly honest, my flower, it looks like a trap to me. If there is a resistance in support of the Wardens, they would not advertise so openly... not in Loghain's own city."

"The hidden pearl holds the key to resistance. What does _that_ mean?" Alistair wondered.

"Isn't there a tavern here in Denerim called The Pearl?" Leliana suggested. "Perhaps that's where they meet."

Lyra nodded, standing as she tucked the paper into her pouch. "Let's go."

"But, you heard Zevran," Alistair protested. "If it's a trap-"

Lyra cut him off. "Then we owe it to any _real_ Grey Warden supporters to kill the people who are behind it," she said tightly.

Without another word, Alistair rose from his seat.

"Kestrel, Zevran, come with us? Everyone else, we'll be back in a few hours." She unhooked the coin pouch from her belt and tossed it onto the table. "Leliana, I put down a deposit with the innkeep for rooms for us all. If you'll talk to him after everyone is finished, everyone can get settled."

Enthusiastic noises as the others agreed, then went back to their food. Lyra squared her shoulders and led the way out of the Gnawed Noble.

.oOo.

The gaudy street sign glinted in the faint moonlight, its carven letters bold against the gleaming orb they were set against. "The Pearl," Lyra murmured. Even _she_ knew of this place; Denerim's most famous brothel. She'd never been in such a building, and found she was quite curious to see just what it would be like inside.

"Why do you suppose they call it a brothel?" Alistair wondered aloud. "There isn't any broth. ...or is there?"

Zevran snickered as Lyra rolled her eyes. Clearly, Alistair had _also_ never been in a brothel, which she found reassuring.

But what Lyra hadn't expected to walk into was a bar fight.

They'd barely cleared the door when Lyra ducked back with a gasp to avoid a gilt-edged chair as it flew across the room. It hadn't been all that close, but it had jump-started her pulse, nevertheless.

The chair splintered against the opposite wall to the tune of shrieks and screams. A lithe woman with flowing-dark hair glared as she swaggered forward, leather-gloved hands planted upon curvaceous hips. Lyra realized she _wasn't _the one who'd been screaming as three scantily-clad women, tousled and rumpled, scrambled out from behind the bar. They disappeared down a hallway, a door slamming in their wake.

"That chair almost _hit_ me," the woman snarled.

All of it had happened so fast, Lyra, Zevran and Alistair had done nothing thus far but watch from the Pearl's entryway. But when three gents charged the dark-haired beauty like maddened bulls, Lyra drew her blades and prepared to intervene.

"Wait," Zevran said quietly, one hand closing over her shoulder.

Lyra glanced back at him in confusion before her attention was snapped forward once more by a pained yell. Just in time, she caught the tail-end of what looked like it had been a fantastic kick, the woman's booted foot carving a path across all three of her attackers' faces.

"Come on, boys... who wants to dance?" she cooed, drawing two short swords as the men regained their bearings.

One of them backed off, one hand cupped to his nose as blood seeped between his fingers. But the other two rushed her, not having the good sense to know when they were licked.

"Let me guess. You know her?" Lyra breathed as the woman spun between her adversaries, her blades flying.

"You might say that," Zevran chuckled. "Watch. She needs no help from us, and would not thank us for robbing her of her fun."

The woman was a dervish incarnate, a dazzling smile on her face as she whirled. Her attacks were unlike anything Lyra had ever seen, a combination of martial arts and knife-work that left her opponents groaning on the floor in only seconds.

"Aww... no one's got enough energy left to take me home? Bugger," she complained. Those wide, straight blades twirled back into their sheaths with a satisfying _snick_.

"Rivaini bitch," one of the men muttered as he struggled to his feet.

"Manners," she called after him as he and his companions made for the door. "Fuck all, there's ladies present."

Poisonous glares were the only response as the trio hobbled from the Pearl.

"And never let it be said that you are not one of them," Zevran said with a wide smile as he stepped out from behind Lyra's back and meandered forward. "Isabela, _dulce mia._ I am surprised that Sanga allowed you in here. How will she do any business, with you distracting all the men?"

"Zevran!" the woman exclaimed with a delighted smile. "You son of a motherless goat! It's been too long! How are you?" Strong, brown arms hooked the elf in for a hug.

"I am alive and well - thanks to this lovely flower," Zevran said, gesturing to Lyra. "Please, allow me to introduce you. Isabela, meet Lyra of the Grey Wardens."

"Captain Isabela, if you please," Isabela laughed. "Pirate, more like. But the title goes with the ship, so I've heard. A Grey Warden, is it?" Isabela's eyes raked her with an introspective glint. "I've heard interesting things about them, both the men _and_ the women."

Alistair cleared his throat and slipped his arm around Lyra's waist. Lyra glanced at him in surprise - the movement was almost possessive.

Amusement twinkled in Isabela's eyes, but changed to admiration as she inspected Alistair. "And who's this strapping young lad?"

"Alistair, also of the Grey Wardens," Zevran continued. "Isabela, you see standing before you my new employers."

"What, you gave up the Crows?" Isabela's rich brown eyes opened wide as they swung back to Zevran. "You're shitting me."

"Not at all. These brave warriors made me an offer I could not refuse."

"So you tried to kill them and failed." The woman's eyes shone with mirth.

"Intuitive as always, _dulce mia_. You should see them fight_._ I daresay Lyra is a match even for you."

"Hmm." Her speculative gaze drifted back to Lyra. "What do you say, lovely? Shall we have a go?"

"Oh, uh-" Lyra stammered, taken aback at the question. "We're actually on an errand, we haven't got the time right now... but allow me to say, that display was nothing short of incredible!"

"Thanks, kitten," Isabela said with a fond smile. "We women have to be strong sometimes, don't we? It isn't every day I meet a lady who Zevran says can match me. Come, sit, have a drink. You can spare an hour to tell me your story."

"We can't," Alistair cut in. "As she said, we've got business to attend."

Isabela grinned in challenge, one hip shifting sideways as she lifted her chin at Alistair. "Business after moonrise, in The Pearl? Mate, trust me when I say I think the criminals you're after will wait an hour." She sashayed forward, her fingers rising to trace Alistair's cheek. Her eyes gleamed with interest, full breasts rising as she drew a breath. She wore a fitted bodice and a man's white satin tunic, slit on each side to the waist, like a scandalously short dress. Certainly, there were no leggings beneath it, and Lyra caught a glimpse of blue silk hugging her hip beneath the tunic. The lacings strained over her cleavage, the pale fabric a sharp contrast to her sun-bronzed skin. A dark blue kerchief held back those lush waves of hair, and burnished thigh-high boots made not a sound when she moved. Lyra stared, more fascinated than jealous, as Alistair turned three shades of crimson under Isabela's caress. Never had she seen a female more sure of herself. "He's a handsome one, isn't he?" Isabela said to Lyra. "I knew a Grey Warden once. He wasn't as young as you two, but... Tell me. D'you think this one's got the same stamina he did?"

"Isabela," Zevran chided.

"Tell you what." Isabela ignored the elf, her eyes sparkling as she looked from Lyra to Alistair. "Why don't _both_ of you come back to my ship. I've got better liquor there than they serve here, and then we can get to know each other in privacy and comfort." She shot Lyra a coy grin, her lissome fingers lifting to chase over Lyra's cheek. "What do you say, pretty thing? Shall I give you an evening you won't soon forget?"

"Her?" Alistair squeaked, his eyes wide and helpless. "You want to take - _her_ - back to your ship?"

"And you," Isabela said. "With both of you here, how could I be expected to decide?"

Lyra's heart pounded as Isabela gave her a flirtatious smile. The woman was a siren, and though Lyra herself had never been attracted to women, it couldn't be denied that she'd been swept under her spell for a moment. "Uh - no," she forced out. "Thank you. I'm spoken for."

"As am I," Alistair said faintly.

Isabela sighed as she stepped back. "So I'd gathered. You two wouldn't have been the first couple to join me in my cabin. They say three's a crowd, but I find nothing to be further from the truth. Are you sure I can't... change your mind?"

"This is a dream." Alistair's eyes darted between Lyra and Isabela as he crept back one step, muttering beneath his breath. "I'm dreaming, and soon I'm going to wake up, and I'll never be able to explain it to Lyra because she'll think I'm a bad, bad man..."

Zevran lifted Isabela's hand to his mouth, pressing a kiss to it. "You are too much, _dulce mia_. Perhaps I shall see you again before we leave the city."

Isabela leaned in to brush a friendly kiss over Zevran's cheek, then sent a smouldering glance at Lyra. "If you change your mind, kitten, I'll be in room five," she purred before strolling off down the hall.

Lyra blushed to the tips of her ears.

"I'm not dreaming, am I," Alistair muttered, his stunned eyes glued to Isabela's hips.

"Not unless we're sharing the same dream," Lyra murmured in return.

"Maker's breath."

"Uh-huh. Anyway..." Lyra gave a slight laugh as she tugged Alistair toward the counter, catching the proprietor's attention. "Excuse me-"

"Five silver for a room, twelve for the whole night." The woman was all business, her coppery hair a little _too_ bright. She leaned on the counter, her fingers tapping the wood as she surveyed them. "Twenty to include your choice of company. No violence or marking. I can show you who's working tonight, if you'll follow me through these doors." The woman began to round the counter.

"No! Uh, I'm not here for...that." Lyra felt her cheeks reddening once more as she pulled the folded poster from her pouch. Did the brothel really get enough women as clients that the owner thought her a potential customer? "I was wondering. Do you know anything about this?"

The woman's face turned flinty as she glanced at the poster. "Third door down the hall." She turned her focus back to the bar and began wiping it with a limp rag.

Lyra thanked her and tucked the poster away again. They made their way down the hall. Kestrel surged ahead, pausing at each door to sniff. He paused in front of the third one, and his hackles rose with a low growl.

"Hush," Lyra whispered. She knelt, smoothing one hand over his head as she peered at the doorknob. A small carving of a griffin had been etched below the keyhole. She pointed silently, drawing Alistair and Zevran's attention, then stood and rapped on the door.

Quiet shuffling from within. "What's the password?" came a low voice.

Lyra's mind raced. She thought back to the poster, the only thing they'd had to lead them here. "The griffins will rise again?" she tried.

There was a pause, and then the lock clicked open. Lyra hurried through, but her dog shoved past her, insisting on being first through the door. Alistair and Zevran were right behind her as all four of them crowded into the room.

The door shut behind them, the bolt engaging again with a heavy _thud_. "Look at this, boys. We caught us another supporter!" a rough looking man said in a snide voice. Lyra drew a breath, her muscles tensing as she prepared to pull her weapons.

"Not just a supporter... those are the Wardens!" the lone female in the room exclaimed. "Don't kill them - Loghain will want to see their faces before they die."

Lyra got her sword out just in time to block a dagger thrust from the first speaker. Adrenaline sang in her veins as she shoved the man off, circling the burly warrior. Alistair's battle cry filled her ears, along with the sound of his shield sliding against metal. The air bled with noise; blades clashing, Kestrel's bark, hobnailed boots pounding the floorboards. A small table was smashed to bits as Alistair slipped and fell. But his sword thrust upward to plunge into his attacker's gut as she closed in for the kill. A squeak of surprise, and she collapsed atop him in a boneless heap.

Lyra's attacker lunged, and Kestrel jumped upward to lock his jaws around the man's throat. The warrior screamed, his arms shoving at the dog, to no avail. Lyra skirted the pair, clambering around to assist Zevran in his fight against a qunari barbarian. The giant's face wore a dark scowl as he watched the elf dance around him, his bastard sword slicing the empty air, vacated only a heartbeat before. Lyra got in a dagger thrust, then drove the blade of her slender sword between the plates of his armor, sliding it into his ribs. He bellowed with pain, and Zevran dashed in to plunge his knife into the qunari's neck. The soldier fell like a tree in a forest, though he was nowhere near as silent.

Alistair had regained his feet, his shield swinging in a semi-circle and sending the two remaining thugs reeling. Lyra dashed in to double-slash the one on the left, and Alistair jammed his sword into the other's belly, burying it to the hilt. The man gasped in pain, blood bubbling on his lips as his eyes went glassy.

Just like that, the room quieted, the only sounds the heavy breathing of the victors. Lyra gulped air as she knelt to clean her weapon on the dead woman's tunic, Kestrel licking her face as she did so. Dropping the sword, she threw her arms around him. "Who's the best war dog in the whole inn? Who is? It's you, yes it is!" she told him in a youthful voice. The dog's tongue painted her cheek with slobber as he knocked her over to nuzzle her.

"A trap, just as I suspected," Zevran said.

"But one they won't spring on anyone else," Lyra said as she climbed to her feet. "Thank you for your help."

"For you, my flower? I would cause the world to turn backwards. I would make the sun rise in the east. I would-"

"How about stopping, can you do that?" Alistair said in a tight voice.

"Oh, Alistair. For you..." Zevran grinned lecherously. "I would do much more."

Alistair groaned and buried his head in his hands. "First Isabela, and now you. Cut me a break, would you?"


	26. The Night In The Tavern

**Chapter 24  
>The Night In The Tavern<strong>

When they returned to the Gnawed Noble, they discovered that everyone had retreated to their rooms for the evening. The inn was quiet; it seemed that after the moon rose, people took their trade to less respectable businesses.

Leliana awaited them at a table. "It's all arranged. They only had four rooms," Leliana told them. "Zevran, you'll bunk with Alistair. Lyra, you're with Morrigan, and I've got the room with Wynne. Sten took the last... he can only fit in the beds if he shoves two of them together, so we decided to let him have it," Leliana explained.

"Good thinking," Alistair said.

Leliana stood and stretched, a sly smile curving her lips. "Goodnight, you two... see you at breakfast." Shooting Lyra a coy look, she padded off down the hallway.

Zevran cleared his throat. "I... may not be needing the room after all, Alistair. I had an offer earlier that I very much plan on following up on. If you will excuse me, I will be unavailable until morning." With a saucy wink, he sauntered from the tavern.

Lyra chuckled. "I wonder whose estate he's been invited to," she commented, remembering the two women he'd been flirting with earlier. But any further words were cut off as Alistair met her with his lips. She was crushed against him, his kiss hard and desperate. Goosebumps rose as she surrendered, the flames of her desire roaring to vivid life. He moved to her neck, his mouth hungry as it dragged over her skin. Shivers danced down her spine as her nervous gaze darted to the doors. The room was deserted, but even so, this was just too public for her comfort.

"Alistair...we can't-"

He drew back, honeyed eyes deep with need. "Lyra... every time I'm around you, it's like... my head is about to explode. I can't think straight."

Lyra swallowed a shaky breath as Alistair's thumb traced her cheek. Teeth raked her bottom lip as she lost herself to his gaze, swept under by the tsunami of desire that had built behind those hazel depths. "I know what you mean," she said softly, her heart thumping.

Nerves creased his forehead. "I don't know if this is too soon, but I know how I feel, and I know what I want. Lyra, I want to spend the night with you. Here, in the tavern." Those amber eyes brimmed with love as he spoke. "I know it isn't anything very special. I wanted to wait for the perfect time, the perfect place... but when will it _be _perfect? I want it to be with _you_. Lyra, I love you. I _want_ this. I've never done this before... you know that. I know you haven't, either... but don't say no. Just... come with me." Heart in his eyes, he leaned in to lay his lips against hers, all tenderness and hope.

Lyra trembled in his embrace, her head spinning. It had been at the back of her mind all day; that they were about to spend the night under a roof, with a door that locked and walls that blocked curious eyes. But even so, to know he wanted it as much as she did...

The thought of what was about to happen burned through her, fiery as a lava flow.

"Come on," she whispered as her fingers threaded his.

.oOo.

They barely made it through the doorway, hands all over each other, lips desperately seeking. Alistair reached to close it and missed, then caught the door with his free hand and slammed it shut. Kestrel yelped as the door nearly squashed him, and Lyra couldn't help laughing as the mabari slunk into the room.

She untangled herself from Alistair's hold and knelt to take Kestrel's face in her hands. "Kestrel, listen boy. Alistair is very, very special to me. You know that, right?"

Kestrel nosed her cheek. The look in his liquid eyes said it all.

"So... don't get excited. About what's coming next. Everything's fine, I swear," she said, her eyes stern.

But he only yawned, unimpressed, then went to flop in the corner, giving Alistair a hard look before _whuffing_ and settling his head upon his paws.

"Will I be safe from his ravening clutches?" Alistair asked as she rose. At her back, his arms circled her waist, holding her close.

"I think so. But be gentle," she returned with a grin.

Alistair chuckled. "I could ask you to do the same, you know." His mouth grazed her neck as she leaned back into him, her blue eyes drifting closed as he trailed kisses over her skin. There was nowhere to be but here, no one to interrupt them or walk in at the wrong time. Turning around, she drew his face to hers, thrilling to the taste of his lips. Alistair's fingers slid beneath her braids as their kiss deepened, tongues twining.

His lips smiled against hers. "What?" she murmured, her own mouth curving up in response.

"Hairpins," he chuckled, pulling one from the heavy rounds at the back of her head. She reached up to help him, and soon her hair was dangling in two long plaits. It broke the mood a bit, made her feel young, vulnerable. Apprehensive now, she gathered the pins from his fingers and dropped them into her belt pouch.

"Hairpins aren't plentiful on the road," she said. He gave a nervous chuckle, running one hand over his own hair. She hesitated then, recalling his words of earlier, along with something she'd said to him in Redcliffe. "Alistair, you're not jealous of Zev, are you?"

"What, him? Noooo..." Alistair said with bravado. But then he shrugged, looking sheepish. "Okay, yes. A little."

Lyra leaned in to brush her lips along his cheek, her hands finding the buckles that secured his armor. "You don't need to be..." she whispered, her fingers busy at the snaps. "As I said in Redcliffe, the only one I want in my bed..." she lifted the breastplate over his head and set it on the floor, "...or in my heart... is you." Her hands found the edges of his face and drew him in, a breath of anticipation filling her lungs as she joined her mouth with his. Stilled by the heady slowness with which she kissed him, Alistair's eyes fell closed, and after another sensual moment he curled his arms around her, bringing their bodies together. She scraped her teeth lightly across his lower lip, coaxing a groan of want from his throat.

Piece by piece, the armor came off, kisses and giggles punctuating every movement. For all of their hurry to get through the door, neither of them were in a rush now. It was a kind of ecstatic torture, drawing it out like this, but it was also fear that had them moving slowly. Neither were treading familiar ground, and desire could carry them only so far.

When they were both finally free of metal and leather, their things stacked into neat piles, Alistair untied one of Lyra's braids and combed his fingers through it, freeing her hair from its severe bonds. She tried to help, but his hands swept hers away. "Let me," he whispered. "I love your hair. You're like a princess in a story."

"Some princess," she jibed. "Carrying my own swords."

The chestnut waves shimmered in the golden ambiance. "My favorite kind of princess," Alistair said softly as he grazed her nose with his. "A militant one."

She laughed as he kissed her, feeling shy. No one had ever looked at her the way Alistair did, like she was the most radiant woman alive. An old flutter of fear rimed her heart as she thought of what would come next. Though he'd already seen her in various states of undress, full nudity was something else - and in the light of the lamp, no detail would go unseen. Would he be disappointed in what she had to offer?

Closing her eyes, she attempted to calm her pounding heart. _He's just as nervous, _she reminded herself. But unlike her own straight figure, Alistair was built like a young god, his rigorous training sculpting him into near perfection. Could she even hope to please him? How many times had she been mistaken for a boy, her warrior's body lacking lush hips and full breasts? _We just had to meet Isabela tonight_, Lyra thought with a touch of resentment. How she longed for curves like the pirate's.

Alistair's fingers lifted her hemline to slide over the bare skin of her waist. She shivered, goosebumps rising at his light tracings.

"You're so soft," Alistair murmured, eyes still closed, his mouth close to hers. "I can't get over it."

"I'm soft?" she giggled.

"Your skin." A rapturous smile curved his lips as they moved against hers. "I've never touched anything like you."

Lyra could think of nothing to say to this. She'd never thought of herself as _soft_ before... it was an intriguing idea. She edged her own fingers beneath Alistair's tunic. Smooth, rippled with muscle, he was warm as a summer's eve as she crept upward, traveling the lines to his chest. His skin was soft, too, despite his chiseled physique. It wasn't so difficult to understand why he found her touchable. Unable to stop herself, she rucked the fabric of his tunic over her wrists and inched it upward, wanting to admire him with her eyes as well as her fingers.

Alistair chuckled as she pulled the tunic up over his head, assisting her with the last bit. She tossed it aside, then took his mouth again, hungry for him as her hands coasted upward, exploring every bit of exposed skin.

"Don't try tickling me," he warned. "I'm not ticklish."

"You can't say that and then expect me _not_ to try," Lyra pointed out.

"I'm not," Alistair grinned. "Try it."

"You just told me not to."

"Yes, but - fine. Don't. Whatever." Alistair ducked down suddenly, lifting her up and over his shoulder like a sack of onions. Lyra shrieked as she flopped over his back, laughter tumbling from her lips as he dumped her down on the bed. It was nothing fancy; the posts rough-carved and splintered, the mattress a simple box stuffed with straw and covered with a thick woolen pad and sheet. But compared to a bedroll on the frigid earth, it was a piece of heaven, even if the room lacked the fireplace she'd fantasized about.

Alistair caged her with his arms, his face ruddy as he grinned at her. Lyra reached up to snag his mouth again, drawing him down. He sighed as his arms circled her, their bodies shifting to stretch out beside one another.

"Maker's breath, but you're beautiful. I am a lucky man," Alistair murmured, his voice filled with awe. Lyra flushed, his sweet words making her heart sing. He was too tempting, his bared skin begging for her lips. She curled her nails over his chest as her mouth followed his collarbone, dropping kisses the whole way. In a moment of extreme daring, she touched her tongue to the hollow of his throat.

Alistair shuddered, his hands fisting in the fabric at the back of her tunic. "You're going to force my hand, you know," he said softly. "You and your womanly wiles."

"You talk an awful lot," Lyra returned with a grin. "Yet all you've done so far is throw me down on the bed. There's been none of having your way with me as yet-"

Alistair's lips closed over hers, cutting off her speech. His hands fumbled at the edge of her tunic, tugging it upward over her head. It caught, trapped beneath her body weight, and Lyra giggled madly as Alistair growled at the rogue fabric. He succeeded at last, throwing the garment across the room before he wrapped her up in his arms again and joined his lips with hers. Lyra tangled her fingers in Alistair's hair as she kissed him, her leg hooking over his thigh. His hand molded around her waist, then slid down to pull her knee higher.

Lyra's body thrummed with need, her blood heating as Alistair's fingers trailed over her stomach. He skimmed the edges of her breastband, then found the knot in the center of her back.

Lyra stilled in his arms, her breathing ragged as he untied the strip of cloth that kept her bound beneath her armor. She wanted it, oh, how she did, and yet her heart jumped into her throat as he drew the fabric away.

"Is this alright?" he whispered, his nose brushing hers.

"Of course," she whispered back, hoping the nerves that curdled her stomach weren't carrying through to her voice.

Alistair did not touch her right away, but lowered his lips once more to hers, his fingers gliding over her cheek. Lyra's breathing calmed as he kissed her, though the fire dancing over her skin only flamed brighter. When the back of his hand trailed over her breast at last, she shivered, a broken sound falling from her throat.

She _ached_ for him, her sensitive skin crying out at every gentled touch. Alistair's lips never left hers, his mouth firm and sure as his hands explored, all signs of his former reticence banished. Slowly, slowly, his palm cupped her flesh, his fingers kneading the sides of her breast. Lyra whimpered, her hand closing over his as she pressed his hand deeper.

A blaze of passion as Alistair responded, his kiss growing bolder as his thumb stroked over her hardening nipple. His mouth abandoned hers at last, leaving Lyra to arc into him as he nibbled kisses along her chest. Shifting over her, Alistair found her breast again, suckling the pink bud into his mouth.

Lyra gasped, her fingers carding into his hair as his tongue circled her nipple, jolts of electricity flying through her blood. Teeth skimmed the sensitive peak, sending a shudder through her body. "Maker's breath," she whispered.

Alistair left her breast and kissed her once more, the warmth of his mouth so delicious. Lyra's arms coiled around his neck as he shifted over her, his body stretched atop hers in the most intimate way possible. The evidence of his desire dug against her, and Lyra ground her hips into that hot hardness, wanting nothing more than to feel him. It was primal, beyond her waking control... Alistair was the thing she needed.

His hands slid over her skin, rolling the two of them to their sides again as he tugged her knee up and over his thigh once more, their mouths still loving. Feeling him so close only heightened Lyra's need, her deepest center echoing with the beat of her heart. Alistair's hand dipped beneath the hem of her pants, curving around her backside to pull her ever closer.

"Maker, Alistair..." Lyra drew back from him, needing a moment to come up for air.

"Oh, Lyra," he said softly, languid eyes opening and inviting her to drown in them. "You've got no idea."

She gave a breathless laugh as she dove into him again, her hunger far from sated. Alistair's hand squeezed, a shudder rocking his frame as their bodies meshed.

The clothing _had_ to go.

Lyra found the drawstring of his pants, undoing the knot with a simple tug. Thus loosened, her fingers delved beneath the fabric, their bodies falling away for a short moment as she found the object of her seeking. Like steel wrapped in silk, he was; hot to the touch, and larger than she'd expected, not that she'd had much idea of what to expect. Her chilled hand wrapped around him, and Alistair shuddered and moaned against her lips, breaking their kiss to lean into her neck, his breathing heavy. Lyra's fingers explored up and down, learning his shape as he gripped her waist, his forehead buried against the hollow of her shoulder.

She wondered briefly how they would manage to fit together.

A shred of panic iced her veins. First times were supposed to be painful - for the girl. Her mother had told her bodies were made to do this, but it didn't help when she recalled the few stories she'd heard. Lyra's heart pounded with dread as Alistair's lips grazed her neck, her exploration halting.

"I love you," he whispered, his fingers lifting to clear a lock of hair from her ear. He kissed her cheek.

She nodded, her voice absent as her mind raced.

"Hey," he murmured, sounding concerned. "You okay?"

She nodded again, not trusting herself to talk.

"Lyra." Alistair rose up on one elbow, then reached for her chin, his hazel eyes boring into hers for a moment. Something softened in his gaze, and he leaned in, touching her mouth with an easy kiss before he shifted his body away from her hand. "Nothing has to happen," he told her in a gentle voice. "We can just sleep... or, I don't know, we could play cards."

Lyra giggled, her pulse calming. "Play cards?"

"Got anything to read?" Alistair jibed, a brilliant smile dimpling his cheeks. "Or, I know. Do you know any good jokes? There's the one about a man with a wooden leg named Smith."

Suddenly, Lyra's fear melted away. Was there anyone in the world she wanted more than Alistair? Anyone she trusted more? Any man who would treat her more tenderly, any other who she would prefer to share this experience with? He was just as virginal as she was, after all, and he loved her more than anything.

Leaning in, she pressed her lips to his, her eyes closing as he sighed into her. "I love you too," she whispered. "And I want this."

Alistair quirked an eyebrow at her.

"I do!" she laughed, then bit her lip, still smiling at his doubtful expression. "Alistair... make love to me?"

"Oh Maker, Lyra..." Alistair groaned. His forehead touched hers. "I want to," he admitted at last, his voice husky. "There's nothing I want more, if you'll allow me."

"Please," she whispered, then tilted her face to his, claiming the last inch between them. His mouth was so sweet. She parted her lips, taking control of the kiss, her hands rising to cradle his face as her tongue sought entrance. "Please," she whispered again, laying a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. His nose came next, then his eyes, her lips grazing his lids and sweeping over his long lashes. She feathered kisses over his eyebrows, one at a time. "Alistair," she breathed. "Make love to me."

His eyes opened, desire burgeoning in those amber orbs as his fingers smoothed through her hair. He said nothing, but joined his mouth to hers again, one arm curving beneath her body to pull her close. Lyra's breasts brushed against his chest, her arms winding 'round his neck as her heart picked up once more, nerves and eagerness combining to fill her with butterflies.

Alistair's hand slid down to the hem of her pants, lingering at her belly button for a long moment. Lyra shifted against him in reply, then kissed his nose as he slipped his hand inside the fabric. Her whole body ached for him, anticipation curling her toes as one foot slid over his.

His touch was so tender, his fingers gliding down toward her epicenter. Lyra's breathing quickened, her desire for him a palpable thing as he touched the edges of her smallclothes, then moved within them.

Lyra trembled with ardor as he caressed her, finding the place where she deepened. The intimate shock of his touch took her by surprise, but then she gasped as he found her pleasure center. It had been chance, nothing more, but the power of it fueled her desire. She sucked in a breath, then opened a bit more to him, inviting him in.

"You're so warm," he murmured, his voice full of wonder.

Lyra said nothing, her tongue moistening her lips as Alistair coaxed feelings from her she hadn't known she possessed. Her hands rose above her head to grip the edge of the pillow, chin tipping up as he brushed that small button once more.

Alistair paused when she moaned, then his fingers repeated the movement.

"Sweet Maker," Lyra whimpered, her eyes closing. "Alistair..."

Another pause, and then he slipped his hand out of her pants. Lyra opened her eyes to see Alistair rise up on his knees. He gave her a questioning look as his hands moved to her hemline, asking without words if she wanted him to continue. She nodded, then lifted herself as he shimmied her leggings from her body, taking her smallclothes with them.

"You too," she ordered when he dropped her clothing over the side of the bed. He chuckled, then blushed when he realized she was serious. Before either of them could lose the momentum they'd gained, Lyra sat up and helped him out of his pants, drawing them down and off.

"Now it's fair," she told him as she settled back on the pillow once more, bringing him with her to lay at her side. "I can't be naked unless you are."

"It's only fair," he agreed, a grin playing about the corners of his mouth as he leaned in close to cover her mouth with his.

Lyra's fingers grazed his length again as his hand settled again at the juncture of her thighs. Knowing the pleasure he was giving her, she stroked him gently, watching him for clues. He stilled as her hand glided up and down, his own movements ceasing for a moment.

"Yes?" she whispered.

"Maker, yes," he said, his voice cracking.

She slid her toes along his bare leg as their lips joined again, her thighs parting as she did so. Alistair's touch resumed, but this time he went deeper, and Lyra drew a long breath when his finger slid within her.

"Too much?" he whispered.

"No." It was only a precursor to the real thing, a different sort of pleasure than before. More intimate, and less overwhelming. Lyra let go of Alistair's length, concentrating on relaxation as his finger pressed within her. She breathed deeply, a shiver rippling through her as Alistair's mouth lowered to her breast once more.

His fingers withdrew, then entered again, the pressure slower and more intense this time as he kissed and nibbled her breasts. Molten with desire, Lyra bit her lip, her eyes rolling back as a choked sound spilled from her. "Alistair," she murmured in a heavy voice.

"Lyra," he whispered, swooping in to join his lips with hers.

Every nerve demanded fulfillment. She reached for him, urging him close, showing him what she wanted. Alistair climbed over her, their mouths still locked as his body settled against hers. Her knees hugged his waist, his length hovering maddeningly close. Lyra's heart pounded as he brushed against her center, her body begging for him. Every inch of her being sparked, alive with desire.

He traced the curve of her cheek, the love and concern in his eyes dousing the blind, wanton need that drove her. "Is this what you want?" he asked softly.

"Yes..." she breathed. Trembling hands reached to help align him, fumbling a bit at the unfamiliar action.

His eyes never left hers, his honeyed gaze enough to drown in. The sensation of him pressing against her was maddening… and then he moved, ever so slightly, into her.

It was the barest beginning. He was enormous, or so she perceived, and she felt herself stretching to accommodate his girth, one impossible centimeter at a time. Her heart pounded, her blood roaring in her ears as he kissed her.

Lyra drew her knees higher, shifting beneath him as he pressed deeper. Minutes passed, their mouths moving together as they became one. Alistair held her close as his body sank into hers, his thumb tracing the line of her cheek. There was pain, but not what she'd feared. Nothing knife-edged or terrifying; a slow, heady burn that faded as she grew used to him, but intensified again with each new movement.

Alistair groaned, his forehead dipping into her neck, his breathing labored. His enjoyment was clear as day, but such tension tightened his shoulders, taut as a bow-string ready to snap.

"Are you okay?" she whispered.

A panting laugh tumbled from his mouth. "Maker, yes," he said. "But... I don't want... to hurt you."

So much of what she'd heard about men involved impatience, or taking their own pleasure first, with no thought for their partners. Lyra kissed him, overwhelmed at the care he was showing her. The thought that this beautiful, strong, gentle man was giving her such an initiation into this new world - it warmed her to the very core. "I love you," she whispered, overcome with emotion.

But soon there came a breaking point, where the pain outweighed the joy that came with such complete connection. Lyra grimaced as she let slip a sharpened gasp, and Alistair paused, worry creasing his forehead.

"Don't stop," she breathed, regretting her outburst. "Please."

He hesitated, and Lyra braced herself as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him deeper still, determined to hurdle this difficulty. A whimper choked past her lips, tears spilling over as her hands trailed up and down his back, but it was worth it when she felt him complete within her. At last, they were fitted together, himself fully buried, her eyes closed as she pulled him down to cuddle into her shoulder.

Alistair pulled away, but Lyra locked her ankles, preventing his escape. "Don't go," she whispered in a broken voice. "Not now."

"Lyra," he whispered as his forehead touched hers, his eyes sorrowful. "I... I didn't-"

She silenced him with her lips, their mouths melting together as her hands twined in his hair. Already the pain was passing, leaving only the delicious melding of their beings. Lyra shifted beneath him, hoping to bring him in even further.

Alistair groaned again as she moved, his own body moving in response, drawing out slightly and pressing back in. Lyra drank in his helpless reaction, soaking up the pleasure she knew she was giving him. Still slow, each movement so small it was almost negligible, yet the sensations were anything but.

Moments crept by, each one greater than the last as confidence and trust overtook the fear that had begun their encounter. Rhythm became everything, their intimate tango performed to a music no one else could hear. Lyra lost herself to it, each wave of feeling pulling her deeper into the abyss that was Alistair's eyes, his touch, the way he reached down into the well of her being her and filled the emptiness in her heart.

She'd have been content to let it go on forever, but Alistair's pace soon quickened, his breath stuttering as he thickened within her. The sheer eroticism of it curled Lyra's toes, pressure building between them as they raced toward that effervescent peak. She gripped him close, climbing with him as he began to shudder, his hands clenching into the blankets at her sides. Alistair cried her name, and it was this that tipped her over the edge, shattering her world from the inside out. Ecstasy, unadulterated bliss, shivering over her in unending waves, the feel of Alistair's climax inside her bringing her to completion.

They held each other, breathing heavily, not wanting it to be over. He brought his lips to hers, her mouth opening languidly, inviting him in. Bodies slicked with sweat, Lyra mopped Alistair's forehead, the scent of their lovemaking heavy in the air. He'd let go of his weight, his body collapsed atop hers, but he didn't feel heavy... Lyra couldn't imagine ever letting him go.

To her disappointment, he soon softened and shrank from her bodily embrace, and she sighed to feel him leave her. Already she missed him, longed again for the collision of souls they'd achieved. As he rolled away and onto his back, she turned into him and laid her head in the hollow of his neck, cuddling as close as she could. He stroked her hair, his arms settling around her.

"Are you alright?" he whispered, his voice worried.

"I am better than I have been. Ever, in my life," she whispered. "How are you?"

"I'm in heaven," he murmured, quiet reverence filling his tone. "We were so_ close… _I felt like we were one person. It was incredible."

Their bodies nestled together, and Lyra felt her eyes closing, the energy they'd expended dragging them both into the fade. But before Lyra could slip away entirely, Alistair's whisper dredged her eyes back open.

"Stay with me, forever…"

She nodded against his chest, her arms tightening around him. "I'll follow you into the next life, and beyond."


	27. Cailan's Ghost

**Chapter 25  
>Cailan's Ghost<strong>

A sleepy sun peeped over the horizon as Leliana tapped on Alistair's door. "Alistair... are you awake? The innkeeper is making us breakfast. We need to meet Bodahn outside the city soon," she called softly.

There was sluggish movement from inside the room, and then a loud _thump_, followed by Alistair swearing.

Leliana pressed her ear to the door, concern creasing her brow. "Are you alright?" she called.

"Yes. Yes, fine. Um, two seconds," he called, his voice muffled.

A sudden smile curved the bard's mouth as she realized what was going on. "Take your time," she told him in an airy voice. "I'll just go wake Lyra."

A flurry of noise from within the room. After a moment the door cracked open, revealing the female Warden, a bedsheet clutched around her breast. Her shoulders were bare, mahogany hair a tangled mess, but Lyra's eyes sparkled, pure happiness shining from every sapphire facet.

Leliana grinned in delight. "My lady, the house is stirring. It is a new day," she said in a theatrical voice.

Lyra laughed, reaching out to clasp Leliana's hand. "It is a new world," she murmured.

.oOo.

The caravan crawled across the land, but it left plenty of time for mulling over the events of the evening before. Though the morning had been delectable, filled with kisses and cuddles and whispered intimacies, now that they were both armored again, Lyra found herself shy. Every look Alistair gave her heated her cheeks, and she found herself smiling for no reason, her eyes canting back and forth to see if anyone had noticed anything different about her. She was sore, too, her legs limp as overcooked noodles. Apparently, there was a whole set of muscles that had never been used before, and when they stopped for lunch, Lyra found she was unable to gain her feet again. "This is just embarrassing," she muttered as Alistair helped her up, catching her when she wobbled.

When Leliana had knocked that morning, Lyra had tumbled out of the bed on her shaky legs, her head banging on the bedpost as she tangled in the blankets. Alistair, for his part, had panicked. Between Leliana's voice at the door and Lyra falling out of bed, he'd had no idea what to do first.

Lyra giggled to herself, thinking about it.

With luck, her body would soon start behaving better. The soreness, the inability to move properly - it couldn't last all that long, could it? She glanced at Zevran. The assassin whistled as he walked, looking quite spry. Doubtless, he'd been even busier than herself the evening before, and _he_ wasn't having any trouble walking.

"Have I told you I love you yet today?" Alistair whispered, capturing her attention.

"You did, yes." Lyra's mouth upped at the corners as his fingers braided with hers.

"Well it won't hurt for you to hear it again," he murmured, giving her a wink.

Lyra couldn't have been happier. "I love you too," she whispered.

They stopped for the night when the sun was westering, and Lyra delighted in seeing the camp spring to life. Romantic as the idea of sleeping out under the stars might be, after weeks of it, she was more than ready for a tent.

Most of their new items they'd gotten from Bodahn himself, but a few had come from other vendors in Denerim. They'd purchased four tents, some proper pots, metal plates and eating utensils - which came in their own clever bag for storage - an iron spit, and various other sundries designed to make roughing it a little less rough. Lyra had been tempted by a feather pillow, but she put it back when Alistair reminded her that no one else had pillows. But their bedrolls had been upgraded, the new blankets thick, strong and - surprise of surprises - waterproof.

"Really?" Lyra had asked, amazed, when the vendor told her.

"What do you think happens when it rains?" Alistair had teased her, enjoying her naïveté.

"It never occurred to me," she'd murmured. The idea of rain made her consider cloaks, and they'd each bought one, also waterproof and very warm. Since they'd both been tossed out into the world with nothing but what was on their backs, resupplying with little luxuries like forks and soap had been good for Lyra's soul.

"Four weeks to Orzammar? More like four _years_ at the rate we're traveling," Alistair grumbled as they set up the tents. "It isn't _that _far. Why is it going to take so long?"

"Bodahn said there are a lot farming communities that don't appear on the maps. He stops at most of them, so it takes longer. It was your idea to accompany a merchant," she reminded him.

Alistair sighed.

Bunking assignments were arranged once the tents were up. Leliana with Wynne, Zevran with Sten, and Lyra with Alistair.

No one said a word when that decision was made; everyone simply accepted it and went on about their business, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Lyra was relieved, if a touch surprised. Somehow, she'd expected more... fanfare.

Morrigan eschewed a tent, preferring to build her own fire apart from the others and find shelter with what she could scavenge. But she did continue contributing to their evening meals, and she was currently baking bread around her fire again while Lyra and Alistair sliced vegetables into a large pot for stew.

"How far are we from the Dalish, do you think?" Lyra asked.

"I dunno. From the map, and at the pace we're going, we're at least another three or four days from their normal territory. But we'll have to track them, and that could mean a week or more. They're pretty elusive, I've heard." Alistair hissed suddenly and stuck his thumb in his mouth. "Mmmm. Am I doing this right?"

Lyra looked over. "What could you be doing wrong? You're just slicing vegetables. Wait, did you cut yourself?"

"Only a nick. Not worth fussing over. You sure they don't have to all be the same size, or something?"

"Nope. They'll cook just fine, as long as they're smaller than huge. Leliana said so." Lyra scooped up her pile of carrots and dumped them into the pot, then reached over to finish Alistair's potatoes as he nursed his thumb.

Leliana lugged a bucket of water up from the stream, panting as she lifted and poured it into the pot. "Alistair, will you set this on the tripod over the fire?" she asked, recovering her breath.

He stood up to take it, pausing as Lyra hastily dumped the potatoes in before he could heave it off the ground. His lips pursed as he tested the metal handle. "You know this thing weighs a ton even when it's empty, right?"

"Does it?" Leliana wiped her hands over her leggings. "Oh. But you're strong, aren't you?"

Alistair's mouth twitched. "Next time, how about I move it _before_ you put the water in?"

"That's a better idea... sorry, Alistair." Leliana grinned as they watched him wrestle the cast-iron pot the few feet to the fire. "Do you know what I learned at the Chantry yesterday?" she said as Lyra cleaned their vegetable knives.

"A new hymn?"

"The location of some people in need. There were notices on the Chanter's board, and I thought you might be particularly interested in _this_." The bard produced a piece of vellum.

Lyra's eyes scanned the page, her eyes widening as she read. "Leliana! This is-"

"Troop movements. Feel like taking a side trip tomorrow?" Leliana said in a sly voice. Lyra hugged her with glee. If this missive could be trusted, they could give Loghain some major headaches - if they got there in time.

After dinner, Alistair and Lyra dawdled. They'd volunteered for the second watch again, and time was spent in getting undressed, organizing things for a quick start in the morning, and setting out their armor. Lyra unbraided, brushed and re-braided her hair. Alistair sharpened his sword, and then Lyra's, as well as her dagger. Finally, they crawled into the tent and sat across from each other in the darkness, unsure of what to do next.

"Do you suppose they can hear us?" Alistair whispered finally.

"It's only cloth..." Lyra whispered back.

"So... I shouldn't do this, then?" Strong hands fetched into her sides, tickling her without mercy. She shrieked with laughter, scrabbling at his hands and pushing them away. Kestrel barked, and Lyra shushed him, finally gaining control of his hands. Even in the darkness, she could feel Alistair's grin.

"We need to go to sleep," she whispered, biting back her mirth. "We have the second watch."

"But, I think I felt something, just there-" He grabbed for her again.

Lyra tamped back her giggles as she wrestled him into submission, pinning his hands. "What has gotten into you?" she whispered, simulating shock as she let him go again.

"You have, you temptress," he whispered, nuzzling her neck as his arms went around her. "How can I be expected to keep my hands to myself, now that you're here with me _in_ _my bed,_ wearing so little?" His hands squeezed her waist, and she tensed up again, anticipating more tickles. But all he did was pull her into his lap.

"It's _my_ bed, I'll have you know. I bought it." Lyra wound her arms around his neck, following him down onto the blankets.

"As if it matters to me. I'm in it, you're in it. It's_ our_ bed. And as long as we're together, I don't care where it is." His lips found hers, and somehow Lyra didn't think they'd be sleeping much before their watch.

.oOo.

"Are we getting close?" Lyra asked. Lifting the waterskin from the hook on her belt, she slowed to a jog to take a deep, thirst-quenching pull.

"Shouldn't be much further," Leliana replied. She looked visibly winded.

"Okay. Two minutes," Lyra said, bringing their small group to a halt.

They'd parted from the caravan after breakfast, leaving Wynne, Sten, Kestrel and Zevran with the merchants. The sun rode high in the sky, the hours spent in running across the countryside to reach Loghain's troops and disrupt their plans.

"How do you run without losing your breath, Morrigan?" Leliana panted, holding her side as she leaned on a rock.

"I use magic to bolster my stamina." The witch peered at her fingernails, looking supremely bored.

"Of course," Leliana said, but she sounded disgruntled. Morrigan had a clear advantage.

Lyra snagged a strip of jerky from her pouch as she consulted the vellum Leliana had given her. They _were_ close.

Muscles protesting, Lyra ordered them out again, promising herself the first watch as a reward for chasing halfway across the Bannorn. Maker knew she needed a night of uninterrupted sleep.

A few moments was all it took to bring them to the edge of Bann Telman's lands. The sounds of battle echoed through the trees, and they slowed to a crawl, hoping not to be discovered. Alistair was about as stealthy as a goon, and Morrigan hissed for him to be quiet. He was in rare form, and stuck his tongue out at her like a naughty little boy.

They needn't have worried. Bann Telman's men were badly outnumbered, and the forty-or-so soldiers were pressing their advantage, distracted with what seemed like an easy victory.

"What's the plan?" Alistair whispered as they crept closer to the battle.

"Ideas?" Lyra glanced at each of them.

"Run in and say 'boo'?" Alistair suggested.

"Ideas, I said. Preferably good ones?"

"A distraction," Morrigan said. "Get their attention."

"Can I be grandiose?" Alistair asked, perking up. Lyra rolled her eyes. Cheerful was one thing, but Alistair was bordering on ridiculous.

"I think your normal, slobbering self will do just fine," Morrigan said, disdainful.

Suddenly, Leliana gripped Alistair's arm, her blue eyes lighting up. "I have an idea..."

There was a flurry of muted discussion. Alistair was ecstatic over Leliana's plan, but Lyra shook her head, unwilling to go along with it. It was foolhardy, far too risky. The two of them ganged up on her, whispering over each other in an attempt to change her mind. Lyra chewed her lip, waffling. Then Morrigan spoke up. A few choice phrases, and Lyra conceded, reluctant but agreeable at last.

Alistair followed Morrigan up a hill into the woods, while Lyra and Leliana snuck up behind the army to wait.

Lyra's stomach twisted with nerves, her eyes skipping back to search the forest for Alistair and Morrigan. _This is pure folly,_ she thought. _There are a thousand things that could go wrong..._

From the top of the hill came a creeping mist, fog that flowed over the ground like water from a brimming bucket. The wildlife silenced, a heavy blanket of stillness thrown over the area. The soldiers felt it, as well, their swords falling to their sides as they ceased their fighting. Lyra watched, scarcely breathing, as the men darted confused glances at one another.

At the top of the hill, a tall, menacing warrior shimmered into being, shining golden armor glinting in the afternoon sun. A mighty longsword was brandished over his head, the hilt rosy-gold and shaped like a roaring lion. The knight wavered in the light, his form watery as he took a few slow steps forward. As each step landed, the earth reverberated with his incredible presence. _Boom_. _Boom. Boom._

_"I AM THE GHOST OF CAILAN THEIRIN! YOU DO GREAT HARM TO FERELDEN BY FOLLOWING THE TRAITOROUS LOGHAIN!"_

The voice was deep, otherworldly, echoing with power. A tremor of fear snaked up Lyra's spine, and she swallowed, reminding herself who it really was.

Lyra tore her eyes from the warrior to risk a glance at the army. "C'mon, Alistair... say something else," she muttered.

_"FERELDEN IS DYING ALL AROUND YOU! THE ARCHDEMON CALLS, AND THE DARKSPAWN ANSWER! WHY DO YOU ATTACK YOUR FELLOW COUNTRYMEN WHEN WE MUST BAND TOGETHER TO STOP THE BLIGHT?" _Alistair's voice, magically magnified, echoed over the battlefield.

_He doesn't look that much like Cailan... _Lyra thought, worried.

But to men who had never seen the king and had likely only heard stories of how grand he was, it didn't seem that improbable. Alistair began to moan and wail, and suddenly the men cowered, shouting and tripping over each other in their hurry to escape the terrifying spectre.

_"TELL EVERYONE YOU MEET! LOGHAIN IS A TRAITOR TO THE THRONE! HE MURDERED ME AND THE GREY WARDENS AT OSTAGAR! RISE UP, AND TAKE YOUR COUNTRY BACK!"_

Lyra couldn't help it. She began laughing madly into her hands. Alistair's handkerchief came out of her pouch, and she jammed it into her mouth, gagging herself in an attempt to remain silent.

In moments, the field was clear but for Bann Telman's men. They were watching the apparition with caution, but then it nodded to them... grandiosely.

_"YOU DO WELL TO RESIST LOGHAIN'S FALSE LEADERSHIP. A BLESSING ON YOU, COUNTRYMEN." _The apparition turned and walked into the woods, fading from view. Slowly, the sounds of the forest picked back up, the fog burning off.

Bann Telman's men glanced at each other, seeming nonplussed. The battle had been turned unexpectedly in their favor, and their commander was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth - or, a ghost king in the armor.

If "King Cailan" had not scared them off sufficiently, Lyra and Leliana had been prepared to jump out of the bushes, staggering around and moaning while Morrigan charmed them to look like undead Grey Wardens who'd been murdered by the treacherous Loghain. But Alistair had done a fine job, and Morrigan's fear and nightmare spells - along with the glamour she'd put on Alistair - had done the trick.

_Thank the Maker_,Lyra thought as she and Leliana trudged up the hill to meet their fellows. Forty men was simply too many.

They followed the missive, breaking up four more raiding parties that day using the same techniques. Alistair got more creative with his speeches, describing his - er, Cailan's - violent death, and the way Loghain had laughed - like a fiend possessed - when the king fell. Lyra couldn't help rolling her eyes a little. She loved the man, but he was a _ham_, and completely covered in cheese. But when it was all over, she praised him highly... then privately told Morrigan she thought the special effects had been better than the speeches.

With luck, rumors of Cailan's ghost denouncing Loghain would make their way across the countryside. _And who knows..._ Lyra thought. _Sometimes a legend can accomplish more than a man._

.oOo.

The four of them camped that night away from Bodahn's caravan, planning on heading back in the morning. Leliana used her bow to bring down a wild goose, and Morrigan gathered plants for a wild salad. Lyra's feet dragged as she gathered wood for their fire, the bags beneath her eyes proving her exhaustion. Alistair spoke privately to Morrigan and Leliana, asking them if they would mind giving Lyra a complete night of sleep.

"She's done in," he said, glancing back at her. "If it's not too much trouble-"

"Of course," Leliana said. "I'll be happy to take the midnight watch."

"And I shall take the first and the third," Morrigan said. "You shall sleep as well, Alistair."

"But - wow. Morrigan, are you sure?" he asked, taken aback at their kindness. "I can take one of those two watches, if you'd rather. There's no reason for you to watch twice."

"Are _you_ not as tired as she?" Morrigan lifted her chin in Lyra's direction. "Where will we be, if our Wardens collapse from fatigue? I had planned to stay up late. The moon is full, and I have rites to attend. Magic wakens my blood, and a few hours of sleep is all I will manage this eve, anyway. Do not think me some saint. It is merely convenience." The wilder woman's voice had sharpened, her yellowed eyes flashing with warning.

"Uh - okay... great," Alistair said, uncomfortable at the idea of whatever _rites_ Morrigan referred to. "But you'll wake me if anything goes wrong. With the watch, I mean."

A smirk pursed Morrigan's mouth. "Do not fret, templar. On a night such as tonight, I shall have no difficulties."

Something _that_ ominous was enough to chill Alistair's spine.

Morrigan shocked him further when she did not seclude herself from the group, but stayed at the communal fire after dinner, boots unlaced at her side as she perched on a log she'd dragged over. She had small feet, dainty, her feminine toes curling into the plush understory. Just how toes could be girlish, Alistair wasn't sure, but somehow the witch managed it.

It was peaceful, just the four of them, with the stars blazing overhead and the moon as shiny as new-minted silver. Lyra curled up in his arms, her hair loose and her head pillowed on his chest, and Alistair sighed in contentment as Leliana began to tell them tales of her childhood in Orlais.

Not for nothing was Leliana a bard. The woman had a gift, her luminous eyes sparkling as she shaped each story with words and hands. To hear her, Orlais never lacked for adventure, and Lady Cecilie's household had been nothing if not exciting. One particular birthday party seemed to have ended rather badly for the guest of honor.

"And then... the Duke _fell_ into the fishpond!" Leliana finished. Alister guffawed, but Lyra dissolved, her whole body quivering as she laughed. She slumped in Alistair's arms, breathless and helpless in her hilarity. Alistair grinned to himself as he pressed a kiss to her temple, enjoying her mirth. _I think just about anything would set her off right now_, he thought as she calmed. Lyra had walls, but when she was this tired, they slipped. A bit.

But it _had_ been funny. Even Morrigan looked faintly amused.

"Growing up in Orlais sounds so different from growing up in Ferelden," Lyra said at last. She turned to the witch. "What about you, Morrigan? Any amusing stories from childhood?"

Morrigan stared into the fire, saying nothing at first, and then began to speak in a slow monotone. "When I was a small girl, a caravan came through the Wilds. I followed it, curious as any little one would be. The center carriage was very fancy, shining with buffed metals and polished woods. 'Twas the very finest thing I had ever seen, and I was fascinated.

"When they stopped to lunch, a woman emerged from the carriage. She was indeed beautiful, glittering with jewels and crystalline gems. I was certain she must be a queen, in her green and gold gown, with golden hair piled atop her head. She wandered off through the trees, and when no one was looking, I stole into her carriage.

"Such richness I had never seen. Silk and satin, the very air perfumed with lilacs and privilege. A shelf lined one wall, thick with books... it was this I wished to look at, but when my... hand... slipped between the volumes, I jostled loose a small, golden mirror, encrusted with pearls and bits of opal.

"I was a child, unused to anything so beautiful. Nothing seemed so perfect and lovely, a pretty bauble that fit within my hand. I wished to have it.

"And so, I stole it, running back through the woods to our earthen home, concealing it within my shirt to hide it from Flemeth. I thought myself enormously clever, to have spirited such a thing away from the caravan, and all without being seen."

Lyra's hand slid into Alistair's, her fingers squeezing. The fire crackled, the sound of crickets musical in the night air.

"Then what?" Alistair heard himself ask.

Morrigan blinked, her strange eyes flickering toward his. "Flemeth discovered it, and smashed it into a thousand pieces. She told me I was a fool to have endangered our existence for such a worthless thing. I was... ashamed," she said softly. "Embarrassed. I understand _now_ why it was wrong to do what I did. Had I been tracked, 'tis possible Mother and I would have been killed. Yet at the time... it hurt me. Greatly."

"You were so young. That was a cruel thing to do to you," Lyra said.

Morrigan glanced at her, surprise raising her brows. "How else was I to learn, if not through punishment?"

"Gentle teaching, perhaps. It's no crime to like beautiful things. You wear jewelry... is there anything wrong with that?" Lyra asked.

The witch made no reply, but rose from the log, careful hands smoothing her skirt. "I must prepare for my ritual." Saying nothing more, she walked off into the darkness

The three of them watched her go, and then Leliana said she was going to sleep before her midnight watch. Only minutes after rolling herself into her blankets, she'd dropped off, leaving Lyra and Alistair to themselves in front of the fire.

"Well. That was... unexpected," Alistair muttered.

Lyra nodded, snuggling against him as he stroked his fingers through her hair. "Morrigan must have been raised with an awful lot of discipline," she said. "I don't imagine Flemeth was a very loving parent. It explains a lot, don't you think?"

"I suppose," he murmured, his thoughts turning to his own childhood. Half of it had been spent in the Chantry, after Eamon's marriage to Isolde. But even before he'd left Redcliffe, his upbringing had hardly been normal. Knowing he was the bastard son of the king, an unwanted nuisance Maric had felt the need to shuffle away. Kept from other children, tutored privately in a room of Redcliffe's castle. Yet for all that, he harbored no resentment to the human race. Morrigan, on the other hand, had a chip on her shoulder the size of a cinder block.

Yet she hadn't hesitated to help them earlier, her magic the only thing that had allowed them to pull off the ridiculous scheme Leliana had dreamed up. And then volunteering for both watches, just so he and Lyra could get a full night of rest.

"Please don't tease her about this, Alistair," Lyra begged.

"I won't," he promised, his brow furrowing.

"I know you two don't get along, but-"

"I _won't_," he interrupted her gently.

Lyra sighed, then reached up to kiss him. "I love you."

"I love you too," he whispered, brushing her nose with his. "Come on. Let's get tucked in."

It took only moments for Lyra to fall asleep in his arms, but Alistair laid awake, staring into the night sky as he trailed his fingers up and down his love's back. His beleaguered mind refused to rest, burdened with the puzzle that was Morrigan.

The witch was cold. Cruel. Judgemental. Whereas he was _nice_. Loyal. Accepting. Well, mostly. It wasn't as if he wouldn't defend himself in a moment of need - there'd been more than a few fistfights he'd jumped into as a teenager, and plenty of scrapes he'd gotten into with the other boys. He wasn't perfect, just human.

But then, by that logic, so was Morrigan. And today, she'd actually been nice - to _all_ of them.

_She's a witch_, he argued. _Witches are evil_.

But was she? Were people born wicked? Or did they merely have wickedness thrust upon them?

Lyra shifted away from him, murmuring in her sleep, and Alistair sat up, rubbing bleary eyes. His hands flopped into his lap, and he stared out across the clearing, his head aching.

The lambent moon hung against a backdrop of crushed velvet, its silver radiance kissing everything it touched. So bright, turning the dark into false day. Such a moon made the night itself feel... _magical_.

Alistair blinked, then, spotting a lithe shadow in the distance. Far away, but black as pitch and easy enough to follow against the cobalt sky. _Morrigan_, he realized.

From some remote corner of the forest, a nightingale began to sing. Morrigan's arms lifted, her silhouette graceful as a dancer as she acknowledged the celestial orb. Alistair found he could not look away, and though his templar senses tingled with magical energy, nothing about it felt threatening or dangerous. If anything, the only sense he took from her full-moon ceremony was simple worship. _This is her religion_, he realized.

He lay down again at last, his mind full and his body tired as he curled himself around Lyra's sleeping form. Morrigan had nursed Lyra back to health in the Wilds after the battle at Ostagar. She'd searched for an herbal cure to Zevran's poison, though with nothing to go on there had little hope of success. She'd assisted them with Connor, expending every bit of her own energy to ensure the boy's safety. She'd cooked, gathered food, shared the task dropped in their laps, tracked halfway across the country in this mad quest to save it from utter destruction.

And she'd asked nothing in return.

What sort of a person _did_ that?

It was a long time before he fell asleep, his bewildered mind troubled by the lack of answers in his heart.


	28. Wynne's Tragedy

**Chapter 26  
><strong>**Wynne's Tragedy****  
><strong>

"Tell me your story, Wynne," Leliana said.

They perched in the back of Bodahn's wagon, where the young bard was helping her with potion making. A rainbow of flowers surrounded them, the fruits of the land gathered for herbal application. Leliana's nimble fingers plucked each blue petal from its stem, depositing handfuls into a wooden bowl, where they waited to be macerated and mixed with a waxy white salve Wynne referred to as her "base". The wagon rumbled gently along, the wheels bumping over the terrain.

Wynn spent most of her time riding in the wagon. Walking from Kinloch Hold to Redcliffe and then all the way to Denerim hadn't been easy on her aging body, even if the group had taken most of a week to do it. Using magic helped, certainly, but her body's energy had been used up with walking, and in the evening there wasn't much left for healing. So Wynne had taken to quietly using salves and ointments and old fashioned hot water to help her aging bones. Without a doubt, riding was better.

"My story?" Wynne said, amused. "My goodness, I don't think anyone has ever asked that of me." She scooped up a handful of petals and began shredding them into the salve, then asked, "Why do you want to know?"

"I'm a bard," Leliana said simply. "I love stories, I always have. Lady Cecilie would often tell me tales when I was a child, after my mother died. You remind me of her, you know. Lady Cecilie, that is."

"Do I." Wynne said fondly. She enjoyed Leliana's company. The young woman had an innocence, though Wynne was certain it was a cultivated act. Leliana spoke too wisely to be as innocent as she first appeared.

"Yes. You both have a quiet sort of dignity, a proud countenance. Do you know, Lyra says you remind her of her mother, as well?"

"It seems I am much the 'motherish' type. Alistair will be asking me to mend his socks, next," Wynne chuckled.

"You must have many stories of your life, growing up in the Tower. What was it like?" Leliana refused to be put off.

Wynne's hands dropped into her lap as she chose her words. "Quiet and predictable, and yet uncertain at the same time. Each day was much like the one before; there were lessons to learn, spells to practice. We rose at the same time each day, ate nearly the same foods, and went to bed each night at the same bell. But... there was always a touch of fear. Fear of the templars, and what might happen if anyone stepped out of line. And, and a fear for our fellows. As a student, I feared for my classmates whenever one of them went to their Harrowing. As an adult, I feared for my apprentices."

"It sounds awful," Leliana said, her brows creasing.

"It wasn't, actually. I had many friends, and have always felt very close to the Fade. Magic is in my blood, and I would not change that," Wynne said firmly.

"To be locked up, though... I cannot imagine it. I need the freedom of the open world. Did you ever try to escape?" Leliana had stopped plucking flower petals, her eyes curious.

"No, certainly not. I spent my whole life in the Tower, though it wasn't as if I never left. After my Harrowing, and when I began to prove myself trustworthy, I was sent on trips and missions. I had plenty of freedom. Going home was always soothing to my soul." Wynne's fingers were busy. She took up a small pestle and began mashing the flower petals into the viscous salve, blending the ingredients.

"But you came with us. You must be an adventurer at heart. I can see it."

Wynne laughed. "Can you."

"You say that as if it isn't true." Leliana tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "If you didn't want to leave, why would you? First Enchanter Irving urged you to stay. You have the same need for freedom as I do, I bet."

Wynne said nothing, her hands steady on the pestle.

"But you still have not told me your story. What of this love you mentioned a few days back? It must have been something very tragic, if it is still affecting you after all this time."

Wynne glanced up, annoyed by the girl's artless questions. "You are very impertinent."

"I am very curious," Leliana replied, unfazed by Wynne's reprimand.

Lyra jogged up to the wagon. "Is this the one you wanted, Wynne?" In her arms was a cluster of white flowers with red centers, their petals streaked with crimson.

"Yes, indeed. Can you find more of it?" Wynne asked.

Lyra nodded as Wynne took the flowers from her. "There's a whole field of it just over that hill. Alistair found it. We'll bring back as many as we can," she called over her shoulder as she jogged off again.

"Leave some, so they'll grow again next year," Wynne called after Lyra.

"I will!"

Leliana put her flowers down, her hands slipping beneath her knees as she stared at Wynne, awaiting an answer.

The elder woman ignored her, veined hands unrelenting as she macerated and mixed. Scrape, scrape, mash. Scrape, mash. Pound. Scrape, mash, mash.

At last, the girl broke their silent standoff, perhaps realizing Wynne didn't intend on budging. "My lover's name was Marjolaine," she began.

Wynne said little as Leliana talked. The bard filled the healer's ears with the reasons why they'd fallen in love, the experiences they'd shared, the friendship they'd cultivated. She gave few details about the intrigue of her lifestyle, yet Wynne had not a doubt, the young women before her had lived a story few would have survived, and all before the age of thirty. Betrayal at her love's hands, flight from the country of her birth. Her struggles to assimilate with the sisters in the Chantry, and how at first, the Maker's house had been nothing more than a place to hide. The months of grief, of crying herself to sleep on a hard cot in a room with fifteen other sisters, of adopting the Fereldan tongue and attempting to nullify her Orlesian accent.

Yet through the telling, not one tear fell. Leliana related her tale... not without emotion, but without anger. "A part of me will always love Marjolaine," she said at last. "She made me into who I am today, and the Maker does not make mistakes. I believe I was meant to go through the things I did - who knows." She lifted her chin toward the hill the Wardens had ventured behind in search of Wynne's flowers. "Perhaps it will help _them._ Help save Ferelden, and thereby all of Thedas."

"It sounds as if you do not resent Marjolaine for what she did," Wynne said, her eyes still trained on her salve.

"Oh, I resent her. It doesn't matter which way you look at it - she _did_ try to have me killed, and that does not sit easily with me," Leliana said. "I do not know what would happen if I saw Marjolaine today. But my years with the Chantry gave me an inner peace that I lacked before. The Maker is wise, and I trust in Him," Leliana said simply.

Wynne scraped the pestle along the side of the bowl, her preparation complete. "Hand me that empty jar, please." Leliana passed over a clean metal vessel.

The salve had turned a lovely, frosted blue color as it absorbed the flowers. Wynne hoped they would have no use for it anytime soon... it was an antidote for the poison called Adder's Kiss. Her hands had performed this task many, many times, but Leliana had given her much to think about, and filling the jar took longer than it might otherwise have. Leliana took the bowl when Wynne had finished, and began wiping it clean as the elder screwed the lid on. Wynne's eyes narrowed as she watched the girl's movements, and the careful way she prepped the bowl for the next batch of medicine. So unassuming.

Wynne's chest rose as she drew a deep breath. "His name was Sedrick," she said at last. "He was a Templar."

"A forbidden love!" Leliana exclaimed, her eyes lighting up. "No wonder you are heartbroken!"

Wynne gave her a dark look, and Leliana snapped her mouth shut.

"He was new to the Tower," the mage continued a moment later. "He arrived from the Chantry in Amaranthine, where he'd completed his training. Likewise, I had just completed my Harrowing. I believe Sedrick and I were about the same age as our Wardens." Wynne murmured a quiet incantation, and flowing script appeared on the jar, labeling the contents. The mage handed it back to Leliana, who stowed it in her bag of antidotes.

"Was he handsome?" Leliana begged.

"He was. Dark hair and gray eyes. I quite lost my heart," Wynne said with a sad smile. "He and I would talk for hours, and I came to learn that the Templars were not evil, power-hungry despots bent on denying the mages their freedom, but merely men with an unpleasant duty to attend to.

"Sedrick had taken full vows, which meant physical love was off-limits to us. He was very aware of the Maker, much to my personal frustration. Though a relationship like ours was forbidden for obvious reasons, we were not the only mage-templar pairing within the tower. But unlike me, Sedrick was most devout.

"For three years, we walked on eggshells around each other. But it couldn't last. We were young, and had grown too close. Eventually... he gave in."

Leliana's eyes widened. She said nothing, but Wynne was certain her imagination had leapt into action.

"It was fun at first. Sneaking around, avoiding his superiors and mine. But Sedrick became more and more nervous as time went on. His conscience ate at him, and I wasn't enough of a consolation prize. He berated himself for breaking his vows to the Maker. And then I discovered I was pregnant."

"Oh, Wynne..." Leliana put one hand to her mouth, crestfallen.

"Sedrick was horrified. I had harbored a moment of excitement when I discovered it, but mages are not allowed marriage, or families, or even relationships. He begged me to do away with what we had begun... and I refused. I am a healer, and I could not purposefully end a life that began as a result of love."

Leliana reached for Wynne's hand. The old woman gripped it silently, refusing to meet the girl's eyes. It took a moment to find the will to continue... even now, she wondered why she'd begun. Her secret had been locked within her heart for a lifetime, and all who had once known of it were dead. Even Irving didn't know, and he'd been one of her associates at the time. But given the events of the past few weeks, perhaps it was the thought that she might never return to Kinloch Hold that loosed her tongue now.

"I was placed in confinement, away from the other mages. It was a nightmarish year for me, and my keepers did everything in their power to learn whose child I carried. I did not tell them. Sedrick was sometimes set to guard me... he wouldn't speak to me, no matter how I pleaded.

"I finally birthed the babe, and he was taken away from me after only a few moments. I begged them to let me hold him." Wynne's voice dwindled to a murmur. "But they wouldn't. Sedrick was not present for the birth, and he didn't appear for guard service for a few weeks after that.

"I was kept in confinement while my body recovered and my milk dried up. They told my fellows that I had been sent to Kirkwall for a year to teach, and I was advised to keep the secret on pain of death. I asked why they did not actually send me to Kirkwall, and they told me my skills as a healer were too valuable to lose.

"I returned to normal life within the Circle, and took on my first apprentice - a lad named Aneirin - shortly afterward."

The sound of heavy footsteps disrupted Wynne's story, both women startling as Lyra came running up to the wagon to deliver an armful of flowers. She smiled at them, then hurried off without a word, too distracted to notice anything out of the ordinary.

Wynne continued when she had gone. "Aneirin was elven, and very afraid to be away from his home. He spent a few years under my tutelage, but they were years during which I was suffering far too much to realize the damage I was doing. I was not kind to Aneirin... I pushed him too hard, asked too much, was far too strict. Looking back, it is not surprising that he ran away. Like me, he desperately needed someone to talk to, and like my captors, I denied him what he needed most.

"Sedrick was the templar chosen to lead the group that went after him. When he returned, I begged him to tell me if they had found Aneirin, if they had killed him. I never found out. He refused to speak with me, but... his eyes were haunted.

"Later that day, Sedrick was found dead. He'd hung himself from a beam in the templar's quarters. I don't know why he did it, but after my pregnancy, perhaps killing Aneirin was the last thing his mind could handle."

Leliana was quiet. She continued to hold Wynne's hand, her fingers kneading softly. "What happened to your son?" she asked at last.

Wynne shook her head, her eyes deadened. "I wish I knew. I would like to believe he was given to a kind family who needed a child of their own to love. But in my heart I know he was likely killed outright."

"And yet you never tried to leave the Tower..." Leliana said wonderingly.

"I learned my lesson. Follow the rules, do not seek more. It wasn't a bad life, all things considered. But I have tasted my own share of tragedy, and it makes me hurt for them. I see very little in the way of a happy ending." Wynne gestured to Lyra and Alistair, who were walking behind the wagon at a fair distance. She had woven a crown of the white flowers, and now plopped it onto his head. It fell into his eyes, and she pushed it back up with a grin. He grimaced, pulling it off and putting it on her head instead, then took her hand.

Leliana leaned in to brush a kiss over the old woman's cheek. "Do not fear, Wynne. There must be a happy ending somewhere. All we have to do is find it."

.oOo.

"Morrigan hasn't been pestering me. It's weird," Alistair mused.

"Maybe she finally realized you're smarter than you look," Lyra teased.

"Hey, I resemble that comment!" Alistair exclaimed. Lyra giggled.

They'd been three more days on the road, and the Brecilian Forest beckoned. The treeline lurked, though it was still at least two days' travel before the slow-moving caravan might actually reach the shadows of the great branches.

"The Dalish are in there, somewhere. We could leave the caravan tomorrow morning, seek them out. If we find them right away, we can rejoin Bodahn before he gets too far away."

"You know, he might want to trade with them," Lyra suggested. "We should ask him."

It turned out that Bodahn thought it was an excellent idea, and agreed that once they got close enough, he'd set up camp while the Wardens sought the forest elves.

"Enchantment?" Sandal asked, perking up.

"Yes, Sandal is quite good with lyrium. If you'd like, have him take a look at your weapons. He can inscribe runes on them, make them more powerful," Bodahn offered. Lyra smiled at the young dwarf, and he gave her a shy smile in return, but his eyes were only for her weapons.

_What harm could it do?_ Lyra thought, then pulled her sword from her back and handed it to him. Even if it were ruined, she still had her daggers. Sandal brightened as he inspected it, then bustled off.

A short time later the young dwarf returned, finding Lyra gathering wood with Alistair. He handed her the sword. "Enchantment!" he cried happily.

Lyra inspected the blade. It now sported a beautiful carving - a rune, which even if it wasn't magic, was lovely to behold. The dwarf was certainly an artist. "What does it do, Sandal?" she asked.

"Magic," he replied, then chased after Kestrel, giggling. The mabari barked, delighted to have a playmate, and the two loped back toward Bodahn's wagon.

Lyra turned to Alistair, one eyebrow rising in invitation as she brandished the sword. "Care to have a go?"

"What do I get if I win?" His face dimpled as he freed his blade.

Lyra chuckled and twirled the weapon. "How about sex?"

"Hmmm... how do I know you'll honor that?" Alistair asked, feigning doubt.

Lyra spit into her palm and held it out.

"That is _disgusting,_" Alistair said in mock horror.

"Oh, please. You've touched worse."

"I'll just have to trust you, though you are a conniving, skinny wench."

"Skinny!" she cried, and swung the sword. Alistair brought his up to parry, and Lyra's blade was suddenly engulfed in flame. Fire danced along the shining edge, the air rippling with heat. She shouted in surprise and dropped it in the brush, where it snuffed out harmlessly. Heart pounding, Lyra knelt to retrieve the weapon, amazed to find it cool to the touch. The grass wasn't even singed.

Alistair's eyes were as wide as saucers. "Enchantment?"

"You said it," Lyra said with a grin. Whatever Sandal had done to her sword was nothing short of incredible!

"Does that mean I win?"

"No, just that I dropped my sword."

"If I were a Darkspawn, I'd've won," Alistair grumbled, but then he jerked his head toward the bushes. "We've got company," he murmured, then gestured for Lyra to follow him. They crept along for several minutes, moving about a half mile from the camp. At last, Alistair put his finger to his lips, and pulled back a piece of brush for her to peer through.

Not twenty feet away, five genlocks were gathered around a carcass. Alistair's warning to keep silent hardly seemed necessary; the monsters squabbled, shoving each other and tearing gobbets of bleeding flesh from a ravaged carcass. Lyra doubted they'd have been noticed even if they'd been shouting.

"Should we get the others?" she whispered.

"Nah, there's only five, and I don't sense any more close by. C'mon," he whispered back, his sword gripped tight. But his boot snapped a twig, and five evil faces whipped toward them, the hunger in their eyes changing to bloodlust. Lyra gritted her teeth, then leapt forward with Alistair, her battle cry as savage as the creatures who charged them.

Her sword burst into flame as she swung it, slicing into the gut of a sturdy genlock. It bit deep, black ichor flying as the monster doubled around the blade. Magical fire washed over the howling monster, the scent of burning rot flooding the air as Lyra freed her weapon and spun to double-slash the next Genlock with her dagger. It gurgled, the frightening eyes blank as it slumped into the grass.

"Come on! Call yourself a Darkspawn?" Alistair taunted the others, his shield battering the three that remained. Lyra slipped up behind them to backstab one of the Darkspawn. It swung on her, growling, and she brought the hilt of her dagger across its face, knocking the monster cold. A thrust of her sword ensured he would not rise again.

Alistair's shield caved the skull of the fourth Darkspawn, and the fifth died with his blade through its chest. "See?" Alistair panted. "Nothing to it."

Lyra grimaced, spitting out a mouthful of ick. "I got blood in my mouth," she gagged, and sipped from her waterskin. She spat on the ground, then took a longer drink.

"Blech. I just remembered my own Joining. I've _most definitely_ had worse than your spit on my hands. Darkspawn blood trumps just about anything. Nice to be immune though, eh?"

"Just about the only good thing," Lyra said, then drank more in an attempt to clear her mouth of the vile taste. "I'll tell you what, though. I'm going to ask Sandal to enchant my dagger as well, and maybe you should have your sword done. It was like swatting flies."


	29. Seeking The Dalish

**Chapter 27  
>Seeking the Dalish<strong>

Alistair's sword crackled as it swung through the air. With a mighty _twang_, it connected with Lyra's, the electricity from his blade twining with the flame from hers as the elements fought for dominance. Zevran and Leliana clapped enthusiastically, and even Sten looked impressed. From her spot in the grass, Wynne stroked Kestrel, and the mabari panted happily as she scratched behind his ears.

"I told you, my Sandal's a right genius with runes." Bodahn's voice swelled with pride. "Back in Orzammar they said he was a... oh, yes. _Savant_. Don't quite know what it means, but he does lyrium work as well as any you'll find."

Sandal echoed him with glee. "Enchantment!"

"Tomorrow, we should head into the forest, Bodahn." Alistair slid the runed sword into place on his back. "Hopefully it won't take us too long to find the Dalish."

"We'll set up camp here. I can wait three days, and then we'll have to move on. I'm due in Lothering during the first week of Cloudreach," Bodahn said.

Leliana and Wynne put together an evening meal while the others fortified the camp. Morrigan had found a bed of wild mushrooms, and she prepared them with some of Bodahn's salt and other herbs she had harvested during their travels. They were _delicious_, and everyone devoured them... except for Alistair, who refused to touch them until Lyra pestered him about it. He finally ate one, and pronounced them very nice.

"Think she might poison you?" Lyra whispered.

"Never can be too careful," he whispered back. "They _are _mushrooms."

"She's not going to kill you, she told me so. She needs you for something... but she won't tell me what it is."

"She _needs_ me for something? Oh, great. Fan-bloody-tastic. I knew I shouldn't have eaten that mushroom. She'll probably use me in some dark ritual while I'm sleeping," Alistair grumbled.

Lyra wondered._ A ritual_... but one specific to Alistair?

Alistair and Zevran were elected to clean up, and they went to it with a will after the required whining and complaining.

Leliana busied herself with her journal, and with nothing better to do, Lyra wandered over to Morrigan's fire. "Thank you for the mushrooms, Morrigan. They were divine."

The witch had buried her nose in the black book Lyra had given her, and looked up in surprise. "Oh. You are welcome. 'Twas no trouble; they are a favorite of mine. 'Tisn't often I have salt, which improved the flavor even more, I think," she said, and turned back to her book.

Lyra lingered. "May I sit?"

Morrigan looked up again, her brows furrowing in confusion.

"Or... are you busy?" Lyra finished lamely.

The witch blinked, then finally seemed to understand the question. "Oh! Please, sit." She closed the book and laid it at her side. Lyra knelt, and Morrigan stared at her wordlessly for a moment. Clearly, she was not an idle conversationalist.

"...how's the book?" Lyra asked at last.

"Fascinating. Actually, you may be interested to hear of it, since 'twas you who brought it to me. And perhaps 'twould be good for me to... clear my mind, somewhat. The book is troubling me."

"How so?" Lyra asked, wondering what could possibly be in it that could scare someone like Morrigan.

"When I began to read Mother's grimoire, I expected to find spells, ingredients, lists of potions and the like. Knowledge that would strengthen my power. But what I found instead has made me realize how very little I know, and has frightened me badly."

"What is it?" Lyra asked, intrigued.

"You are aware of the Chasind legends, are you not? About Flemeth, the Witch of the Wilds, and her covens of sisters who howl at the moon?" Morrigan asked in a tone that said exactly how little she thought of these legends.

"I've heard them, yes."

"I have heard the legends as well, though Mother did not like to speak of them. But what puzzled me was the fact that the legends always mentioned _many_ witches, and I never met any others." Morrigan took up the book, her fingernail tapping the cover. "This grimoire explains why. I have discovered the secret of Flemeth's long life."

Lyra leaned forward, Morrigan's somber words tickling her melodramatic side. "Blood sacrifice?"

"Not... exactly." Morrigan slanted in to meet her, missing the facetiousness in Lyra's tone. "Flemeth's method is to steal a girl child and raise her as a daughter, and then when she is grown, Flemeth takes her body as uses it as her own."

Lyra's levity evaporated. "Her daughter? Then you-"

"Are her next victim." Morrigan straightened, her eyes wry. "You see why I am perturbed."

"But - Maker." Lyra shook her head, amazed. "How can she do that to you? She's your mother!"

"She can, and according to this book, she _has,_ over and over again. But now that I know, I can stop it from happening. 'Tis clear to me. Flemeth... must die."

Lyra reeled. "You plan to kill... _Flemeth_? The most powerful witch in Ferelden - possibly all of Thedas? Morrigan, you are very, very powerful, but-"

"It cannot be me. You must do it."

"What?" Cold chills shot through her. "I can_not_ kill Flemeth!"

"You can," Morrigan said crisply. "She is an old woman, and much of her power is fading. She was relying on me more and more, and I do not doubt that she meant to take my body soon. But if I am with you when you confront her, I cannot be certain she will not possess my body immediately. I must not be there when it happens. Will you do this, my friend?"

Lyra sputtered. Friend? Her _friend_ was asking her to commit a murder. Not a defensive killing, but a cold-blooded murder. Of her _mother_. Who just happened to be the most feared witch in all of Fereldan legend. "I... I don't... Morrigan, it's..."

Morrigan simply waited, saying nothing as Lyra struggled to complete a sentence.

"Is there a time limit on this?" Lyra whispered at last, wondering what was wrong with herself.

"No, I don't imagine so, although the sooner the better, yes? Bodahn said himself we would be in Lothering in the first week of Eluviesta - Cloudreach. It will be a few hours' walk to the Wilds, and the errand can be complete. When she is dead, you must bring me her _true_ grimoire. She keeps it locked in a chest in the house, and she wears the key on a leather thong around her neck. With it, I may be able to-" Morrigan stopped.

"Be able to what?" Lyra asked, still wondering how she would manage to defeat the Witch of the Wilds.

"Become as powerful as Flemeth," Morrigan finished, then stood up quickly. "Alistair is looking for you. You should go to him." Turning on her heel, she stalked off into the darkness, leaving the young Warden seated by the fire.

Lyra shivered... the spring night had gotten cold. Standing slowly, she walked back to the main area of camp.

Alistair _was_ waiting for her, and he took her hands and squeezed them. "There's a river not far from here. Feel like going for a swim?" he said with a sparkle in his eye. Then he caught her expression. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Morrigan..." Lyra choked out. She swallowed. "Morrigan wants me to kill her mother."

Alistair began to laugh, then stopped. "Wait, you're not kidding."

Lyra shook her head with a shiver, then filled him in on their conversation.

Alistair gave a low whistle. "Are you going to do it?"

"I said I would try... will you come with me? When I go?"

"Of course I will, but I can't say I'm thrilled with the idea." He shook his head. "In fact, it sounds positively... _deadly_. It may not be a good idea, Lyra. We're the last Grey Wardens in Ferelden. We can't get killed by Flemeth, we have to give the Archdemon a shot at us first."

"Morrigan said she wasn't very powerful anymore."

"Even so..." Alistair sighed. "This isn't going to be fun, I can tell. Do you suppose Wynne can fix us up with... magical... repellent, or something?"

"Maybe," Lyra said, then shuddered. "You said something about a swim? I need to get my mind off of this."

"Get your soap. I'll wash your hair for you."

The moon hung low in the sky when they got to the river. It had been tough to talk Zevran into trading guard duty with her, but Lyra wanted to get a full night's sleep, and so she'd managed to arrange the time off for both of them. The armor had been left at camp, but Alistair had his sword and shield, and Lyra had her dagger. Alistair reported the area to be clear of Darkspawn; they'd be safe enough for an hour. Lyra spread a soft, waterproof blanket on the ground near the shore. Thinking of climbing out of the river and having nowhere to dry off had prompted the thought... she was hoping to keep as many bugs out of her clothing as possible while they bathed.

Alistair pulled his clothing off and hurried into the river. Lyra took a bit more time, certain the water was glacier-chilly. It might not have been winter anymore, but that didn't mean it was summer. Alistair's yelp was telling, and she watched him dunk underwater with a touch of apprehension. Were it not for the grime she could feel in every crevice, she might have skipped such a wintry bath. She stripped, loosed her hair, and took her soap with her into the water. It was icy, but she gritted her teeth and forded in.

"Any man-eating fish?" she called to Alistair, who was wiping water from his face.

"Don't think so-" he said, then abruptly threw up his arms and disappeared under the water with a violent splash. She shielded her face from the flying droplets, watching him surface again a moment later. "Don't bother coming to save me, I'm-" The words cut off as he was 'pulled' under the water again, and she grinned as she made her way over.

He surfaced, and she handed him the soap. "Big guppies, huh?"

"_Huge_," Alistair said with a grin, spinning the soap in his hands to work up a lather. Lyra was tempted to help him wash, but the water was really too cold to do much more than bathe quickly and get out. She steeled herself, and ducked under.

It was absolutely _freezing_. She came up sputtering and took an enormous, gasping breath, her jaw clenching as she shivered. "How can you just... jump... into this? I was hoping for a relaxing swim, but it's still to early for me, I suppose."

"It _is_ pretty cold," Alistair said. He was lathering his hair, and when he'd finished he handed her the soap. She washed as quickly as possible, then lathered the crown of her head and hurried out of the water to stow the soap before forcing herself back in to complete the job. Alistair _did_ help her wash her hair... his gentle fingers worked the suds into her scalp, and she assisted, only because she was too cold to stay in and enjoy his attentions. Ducking under once more, she finished rinsing, then scurried to shore.

The warm air was like a caress. Lyra grabbed the soft leather she used as a towel and dried as quickly as possible, then handed it to Alistair. He threw it over his head and rubbed his hair vigorously, making it stand completely on end. Kneeling on the blanket, Lyra attempted to run her fingers through her hair before going after it with her comb. "What I wouldn't give for a dram of Mother's hair oil," she sighed. "If you'd asked me a month ago what I'd miss the most about Highever, that wasn't something I'd have thought of."

"Tangles?"

"Andraste, yes. Always."

"Can I help you comb them out?"

She looked back at him with a surprised smile. "You want to comb my hair?"

"You say that like you're shocked," Alistair chuckled. "Your hair is amazing. Why wouldn't I want every chance to touch it?"

Shrugging, she handed him the comb, embarrassed yet pleased by his words. "Start at the bottom, and work your way up. You'll make a really big knot if you start up high."

Alistair's fingers were deft, and Lyra was surprised at the skillful way he picked the knots from her hair. It hardly even hurt. "You're good at this."

"I've always been good with my hands," he murmured, absorbed.

"Do tell." Lyra turned her head to throw him a sly glance. "I never would have guessed."

Alistair grinned, his focus on her hair. "Right. Did you know I like to draw?"

"You do?" Another smile touched the corners of Lyra's mouth. "Huh."

"Yup."

"Do you have any of your work with you?"

"No. I haven't really had time since I joined the Wardens."

A shiver tingled through her as his industrious fingers grazed her skin. "How did you learn? Did anyone teach you?"

"Not really. It's just something I always liked doing."

"I'd love to see you draw."

Alistair wound her hair in his fingers, the comb smoothing through the drying fibers.

"So what did you draw? People?" She closed her eyes, losing herself in the soothing rhythm. Maker, it felt beautiful just to be touched.

"Some. Animals, sometimes. Scenery, or weapons, or... I dunno. Emblems. I drew the Grey Warden griffin a few times."

"Like the one on Duncan's shield." The image of that creature would forever be burned into her mind.

"That's the one."

The music of the night was the only sound for a few minutes as the comb worked its way higher. Lyra curled into a ball, wrapping her arms around her legs and resting her cheek upon her knees. Her mind lingered on the idea of the griffin. "Did you always want to be a Warden?" she murmured after a time.

The tines scraped harmlessly against the top of her scalp. "I dunno. Maybe. I met Duncan when I was a kid, and he wrote to me while I was growing up. Even came to visit me in the Chantry a few times... So, because of him, the order was always something I knew about. I really admired him. The Wardens always seemed like such heroes, y'know?"

Lyra nodded.

"I guess I sort of did want to join up." Alistair's arms circled her back, his lips finding her neck as a breeze picked up wispy strands of her hair. Lyra melted into him, her eyes closing. "Did you?"

"Mmmm... It was a dream," she admitted. His mouth was so distracting. "I wanted to be anything but a girl. A soldier of some kind, I suppose. Defending Ferelden against invaders, protecting the innocent."

"And now we both get to live it." Alistair gathered her damp hair into a bundle, draping it over her far shoulder. "Exciting sort of life, right?"

"It's got perks." Lyra shivered as his fingers traced paths over her shoulders.

"Your neck is without a doubt the most delicious thing."

"And here I thought you preferred cheese."

"Hunger comes in all forms," he murmured, the grin in his voice unmistakable.

"So you'd rather be a Warden than an artist?"

"Hmm..." Alistair considered as he nuzzled her. "That depends. What do I get to draw?"

"I'd pose for you," Lyra whispered in a teasing voice, then shrugged, feigning disinterest. "If you wanted, of course."

"Would you be wearing clothes?"

"Hmm... I'd leave it up to your artistic vision."

"And how," he asked between kisses, "would you expect me to keep my hands off of you long enough to get anything on the paper?"

"Willpower," she murmured, shifting her body toward his. "You could do it if you really tried."

"You don't even know if I'm any good." Alistair gathered her in, his nose circling hers. He was so _strong_, his arms and shoulders banded with steel. There was no effort as he lifted her, their bodies flush as her breasts brushed his chest. Lyra hitched a breath, her heart skipping a beat as Alistair's gaze burned through her.

"But I know you're good with your hands," she whispered at last.

Alistair dipped in, claiming her lips in a kiss that left her breathless.

.oOo.

The following morning dawned clear and hot. Lyra, Alistair, Wynne, Zevran and Kestrel left the caravan and headed into the Brecilian Forest to seek the Dalish.

"How do we find them?" she asked Alistair. Kestrel romped at Lyra's side, his exuberance drawing a grin from his mistress.

"I don't know, actually," Alistair admitted. "I thought we might just start looking for any signs of life."

Lyra considered. Her dog whined eagerly, snagging her attention. "Kestrel, think you can sniff out anyone who might be living in the forest?"

He barked an affirmative, then buried his nose in the underbrush. With nothing else to guide them, they followed the dog, keeping their eyes open for any signs of recent passage.

An hour later they were deep beneath the canopy of trees, surrounded by the thick, damp scent of loam and undergrowth. Lyra fanned herself in the damp heat, feeling stifled in her confining armor. Beads of sweat rolled down her neck, bringing to mind the icy river of the evening before.

"Wynne," said Zevran, "you are an enchanting woman. You know this, I hope."

The mage cocked a brow at the assassin. "Me? Enchanting? I am also three times your age."

"It matters not. Your eyes, like jewels. Your hair, like ivory. Your bosom-"

"My _bosom?"_ Wynne said sharply. "Zevran, that is _most_ inappropriate!"

"Why? You have a bosom. I have a-"

"Do _not_ finish that sentence!" Wynne cried.

"-pair of eyes. Why should I not comment on beauty when I see it?"

Lyra jammed a knuckle into her mouth and bit down hard, praying she wouldn't begin snickering and end their dialogue before it could finish. She was _dying_ to hear this.

"I am old enough to be your grandmother," Wynne replied, sounding exasperated.

"Which is what makes your bosom so very magnificent. It has not fallen to the ravages of time, but looks as fresh and young as-"

"This conversation is over," Wynne snapped, clearly ruffled.

Silence ruled the air for awhile, and then Kestrel barked and ran ahead.

"Look." Alistair pointed to a rut in the ground. Wagon tracks. The mabari barked again, and they hurried to follow the trail.

Minutes passed, the air seeming thick enough to slice. Maker, the humidity! The forest was nurtured by the water, without a doubt, but how could anyone stand to live in such a place? Much longer, and Lyra was certain she'd be able to wring out her underclothes.

"You should apologize to me, Zevran." Disapproval rang in Wynne's voice.

"I should? Why?"

"Because you said things that were inappropriate and frankly made me uncomfortable."

"Oh. Then I am sorry." His tone was light and amused.

Wynne paused before speaking again. "No you aren't."

"You are right - I am a bad, bad man. I feel so much regret. May I lay my head on your bosom? I need to be comforted."

"Zevran," Lyra began, not sure what she was about to say, but certain that death would strike the assassin down if he continued to bait Wynne. "uh..."

"Yes, my flower? Do not be jealous of Wynne. Your bosom is every bit as magnificent as hers."

Lyra threw a hand over her mouth, and a giggle slipped out before she could help it.

Alistair slid her a look. "I didn't find that one so funny, actually," he muttered.

Another sticky hour passed without too much incident, though Zevran continued to flatter their mage, who lapsed into icy silence in response.

Kestrel came to a sudden halt, his hackles rising. A low growl rumbled from his throat as muscles bunched in preparation for attack. Lyra sped to kneel at his side, one arm circling his body in an attempt to soothe him. A heartbeat later, she spotted the source of his ire - a tall, graceful elf, standing statuesque amidst the trees.

"What is it?" Alistair asked, then Lyra heard his breath catch as he, too, saw the elf. Without a word, she glided out of the bracken, lissome as morning mist.

Unlike themselves, she wore a short-cropped leather vest and skirt - far better suited to the heat they'd been suffering through. Soft boots embraced her feet, and one hand gripped a beautiful bow. Her ears rose to a sharp point on either side of her head, her eyes almond-shaped, her nose long, wide and straight - a prominent feature in an otherwise aesthetically perfect face.

"Halt, Shemlen," she warned in a low voice. "Come no further. Three of our marksmen have bolts trained on your every move, and it will end badly for you if you think to harm us."

"We mean no harm," Alistair said hastily. "We seek the Dalish. I am Alistair, and this is Lyra. We are Grey Wardens, and we have a treaty with the Dalish for aid during a Blight. Please, may we speak with your leader?"

"Grey Wardens?" The elf studied them for a long moment, then gave a small nod. "I will take you to Keeper Zathrian. But touch a weapon, and we will shoot you where you stand." With this warning, she turned and walked into the trees, and Lyra and the others hurried to follow.


	30. A Beastly Problem

**Chapter 28  
>A Beastly Problem<strong>

The Dalish camp was unlike anything Lyra had seen before.

Giant, boat-like carriages sporting brilliant red sails formed a large circle, and in front of each was a family's personal area. Each had a fire pit, and Lyra was able to distinguish the homes of different craftspeople. In front of one carriage was a small pile of leather, along with specialized metal tools for shaping and decorating. Another carriage housed an artisan wood-worker, evidenced by the golden shavings collected in beautifully worked wooden buckets and the fantastic designs carved into the carriage itself. A third carriage was home to the resident healer - racks of carefully hung plants and shelves of jars and bottles told their own story.

It was a village, but a village that was made to be folded up, rolled away, and reassembled elsewhere. Children played, women sewed. Elves were cooking, practicing with weapons, or simply sitting and talking. All were tattooed, and all were dressed in the simple, freeing leather clothing that the guard wore. They seemed to favor function over fashion; all were dressed alike, and Lyra could see how appropriate such clothing was to the environment. Malleable boots would not snap twigs or crush leaves, and bare skin was a clear concession to the heat of the day. The short loincloth-skirts the women wore allowed full range of movement - no bulky armor to work around. _They do not fight other people as we do,_ Lyra thought. Why would they need plate armor to take on a bear, or a hawk?

All eyes were on Lyra and her party as they made their way through the camp, thel noises ceasing as they penetrated deeper. Children paused in their play, turning wide eyes up at the newcomers. Even the few fires that burned at this time of day seemed to quiet their hissing and crackling as the foreigners crossed Dalish soil.

Lyra looked around nervously. Some of the elves were watching with curiosity, but a few faces were openly hostile. But there was also admiration and desire from a few of the younger women as they took in Zevran, and to a lesser extent, Alistair. Disdain from others, as they inspected the humans and they way they armored themselves in metal. Suspicion at the staff on Wynne's back. Expectancy, as the group was presented to the Keeper.

The guard stopped before an elf wearing the same sorts of leathers, but his tunic was longer, with dark feathers adorning his shoulders. The elf was bald, his tattoos extending up and over his bare pate. The scowl he gave them shone from dark, serious eyes... Lyra hoped he wasn't as unreasonable as he looked.

"Andarin atish'an, Keeper Zathrian." The guard bowed her head. "We found these Shemlen in the woods, following our tracks. They say they are Grey Wardens. They wish to speak with you of treaties, asking for aid."

The language was beautiful and lilting. Lyra caught herself straining to hear it. _Leliana would appreciate being here_, she thought. _She might even already know stories of the Dalish._

"Anetha ara, Mithra. There is no need for formality. I will speak with them. You may return to your patrol. Ma serannas."

"Ma nuvenin, Keeper. Ma serannas." The guard strode away, and sounds in the camp filtered back to a subdued level. However, the children were gathered together and led away.

The Keeper turned to Lyra and Alistair. "Welcome, Wardens. I am Zathrian, Keeper of Adahlen Arla - our forest home. I can guess why you've come. You are here about the treaties. I am sorry to say I cannot grant you the aid we promised. You will find no help here - I suggest you leave."

"But-" Lyra protested. They'd only just gotten here - the Keeper couldn't just dismiss them. ...Could he?

The elf gave a curt bow, then walked away.

Lyra was stunned. Her legs caught up with her brain after a moment, and she began to chase after Zathrian. Alistair and the others followed behind her, just as taken aback as herself.

"You can't just tell us to go," Lyra insisted. "This is a Blight! The Archdemon won't care whether you're elven or human or, or..."

"I am sorry, Warden. My people have their own troubles, and until those troubles are ended, we cannot grant you aid." The words had an exasperated finality about them, as though he was being forced to explain the obvious to a troublesome child. Zathrian slowed near one of the carriages, and a young woman with similarly feathered shoulders stepped out, her eyes brimming with interest.

"Here it comes," Alistair muttered under his breath.

"What troubles?" Lyra demanded, forgetting all forms of diplomacy. Behind her, she could practically hear the clenching of Alistair's jaw.

The Keeper's hard eyes skipped between all of them for a moment, then he marched off once more. Lyra scrambled after him, unwilling to simply let him leave. The young woman with the feathered pauldrons followed without a word.

It must have been the right thing to do, for he spoke over his shoulder as they walked. "My people have been attacked by fearsome beasts who live within the forest. They are dying."

Zathrian came to an abrupt halt, then gestured toward what looked to be an impromptu hospice. Lyra's eyes widened as she took in the devastation that had been done to Zathrian's people.

Rows of simple cots had been lined up, each containing an elf in varying stages of illness. Some of the patients writhed and groaned, others seemed only to be asleep. But all of them bore swollen wounds that leaked a sickly gray-orange ichor. Lyra's eyes were drawn to the elf who seemed the furthest gone - his skin was ashy gray, his breathing labored. From time to time he moaned in his sleep, the sound so weak and piteous it broke Lyra's heart. Another elf was attempting to give him water, with little success.

"Perhaps I can help ease their pain, Keeper," Wynne offered.

Zathrian turned a doubtful look on her, his voice chilled. "Our own healers have been able to do nothing. This is not a typical animal attack, but a curse that has been inflicted on our people. I am sure you are skilled, mage, but this is beyond the realm of men."

"Beasts in the forest, you say. They will die at the end of a blade, will they not? Let us lead a hunting party," Lyra said.

Zathrian was already shaking his head. "Your deaths will not aid us. Go, Warden. Leave this place. Our talk is done." He turned to walk away again, but Lyra grabbed for his arm, her temper rising even as she struggled to quell it. He turned to stare at her in surprise.

"I am sorry, Keeper, but we are not done. The Wardens need the Elves. Ferelden must unite, or we will be swallowed by the tide of darkness that is coming. We can_not_ leave here without obtaining your agreement to honor the treaty set down by our ancestors, and so we will do whatever is necessary to help your people. Tell me what we must do."

She spoke quietly, but there was iron in her tone that made Zathrian listen. He looked at her for another moment, then nodded. "Very well. In order to cure my people, one beast in particular - a white wolf called Witherfang - must be put down. He is the leader of these beasts, and if his heart is brought to me I can use it to create an antidote which will counteract the poison."

"So... the beasts are wolves," Alistair said.

"Wolves... and men," Zathrian said. "The curse stems from Witherfang, and from him it can be destroyed."

"Wait a moment, Zathrian... you're saying these beasts are _werewolves_?" Alistair's voice cracked. "They're not just stories? What happens if we're bitten?"

Zathrian's smile was cold. "Then your quest will become rather... personal." He turned to Lyra again. "Speak with my second, Lanaya, or our storyteller Sarel if you require more information. Time is short, Warden. Seek the wolves, or leave this place."

Lyra shivered as Zathrian left them to stand in the center of the encampment. What had she gotten them into _now_?

Alistair put his hand on the small of her back, and whispered in her ear. "We don't have to do this. We'll go back to Bodahn, and continue to Lothering."

She shrugged him off. "No, we do have to do this. They need help, and we're here. We can't just leave."

Alistair pressed his lips together and furrowed his eyebrows. "You have a noble heart, Lyra, but we're talking about werewolves. If the stories are true, and I don't seen any reason for them not to be, they're creatures bigger than you or me, faster, stronger, who can rip us to pieces in seconds. Imagine a mabari that's taller than you are, with longer, sharper teeth and a thirst for blood."

"They didn't rip _them_ to pieces," she replied, gesturing to the infirmary. "Alistair..." She glanced at Wynne and Zevran, who suddenly found other things to be interested in. She turned back to the man she loved. "Alistair, leaders don't abandon those in need, no matter how dire the situation is. That's why we had to clear Kinloch Hold, and it's why we helped with the battle at Redcliffe. We're_ leaders_," she said emphatically, gripping his hands. "We can't abandon our people."

A pained expression crinkled his eyes. "Woman, you're going to be the death of me. And of you."

She said nothing, only squeezed his hands again.

Alistair sighed. "Lyra, this terrifies me," he said quietly, looking at her imploringly. "I see what you mean, and you're right... but... Maker! Why is it just us here, dealing with these impossible problems?" he griped.

Lyra slipped her arms around his waist, offering silent comfort. He wrapped her in an embrace, leaning his head against hers. Kestrel leaned against their legs. They held each other for a moment, and then Lyra said, "Better?"

"No." Alistair said glumly.

"But we're going to do it anyway," Lyra said.

"Yes," Alistair said, just as glumly.

Lyra giggled at his melancholy. She pulled away, then turned to Wynne, recalling something Alistair had said about 'magical repellent'. "Wynne, is there any kind of... salve... or something, that increases resistance to physical damage?" she asked.

Wynne nodded. "I have some, but not much. Enough to last the day, perhaps, as long as there aren't too many encounters," she said.

Lyra considered, then nodded.

"Let's ask Zathrian for a guide. If we're going to stick our necks out like this, he can damn well help," Alistair snarked.

Privately, Lyra agreed. A guide would cut search time. She was glad they'd brought Wynne with them. In such a situation, a healer could make the difference between life and death.

"Don't mind Zathrian," the elven woman said. Lyra startled, then turned - she'd forgotten she was there. "He worries for the clan, and the face he showed you was not his best. He is a kind and compassionate leader, and he is one of the longest lived among us... he has been alive for centuries."

"A long time," Lyra said. "I'm Lyra, of the Grey Wardens."

"I am called Lanaya - I am Zathrian's second, or what I believe you would term 'apprentice'." She bowed to them. "Andarin atish'an, Wardens. Be welcome in Adahlen Arla."

"Thank you, Lanaya." At last, someone who seemed willing to help them! "Can you recommend a guide to us? We don't know the Brecilian forest, and we don't want to waste time."

Lanaya considered, then brightened. "Athras may be a good one to ask. He has not been allowed to go into the forest, and he has personal reasons for seeking the wolves. I will speak to Zathrian, and to Athras, if you would like," she offered.

"Thank you," Lyra said gratefully.

Lanaya hurried away, then turned back. "Speak to Varathorn as well - he may have some supplies that will help you," she said, then scurried off.

"Great. Who's Varathorn?" Alistair grumbled.

Lyra lifted her shoulders, at a loss. "Maybe they can tell us." She gestured to a nearby fire. It belonged to no wagon, but seemed like a semi-permanent gathering area. A few elves were seated around it, talking quietly and shooting clandestine looks at the Wardens.

Zevran cleared his throat. "My flower, if you do not mind..." He canted his eyes toward a group of lovelies, who began giggling and whispering.

Lyra bit back a grin. "Go ahead, Zevran. But don't get involved in anything too... um, involved. We may be leaving soon."

Zevran gave a sweeping bow and kissed her hand, then sauntered toward the girls with his arms spread wide. "You wish to meet Zevran, yes? Allow me to bring all your dreams to fruition."

It was a ridiculous thing to say, and yet the females rushed toward him, gathering like bees around a flower. Lyra watched in amazement as the assassin was led away by his new harem. "They don't even know him!"

Alistair chuckled. "He's got a gift."

An incredulous laugh slipped from her lips. "I guess he does. I don't see it, though."

"Thank Andraste." Alistair grinned at her as he slipped his hand into hers, leading her toward the fire. Wynne followed, a few steps behind. Conversation ceased as they approached, but then one elf spoke.

"Be welcome, travelers. I am Sarel, Era'derth of this clan - storyteller, in your tongue. You plan to confront Witherfang... your intentions are good, and despite the impression you may have received from Zathrian, the Dalish thank you for your aid." He bowed his head respectfully, then gestured for them to sit.

Lyra perched on a handy log, and Kestrel curled himself around her feet. Alistair lowered himself to the ground by her side, and Wynne took a seat nearby on another log. The other adults murmured welcome, and quiet greetings were exchanged. An elven child sat nearby, cradling an arm that was wrapped and covered with poultices. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she sniffled.

"What's wrong, small one?" Wynne asked, concerned.

"Karel broke her arm this morning, Shemlen," another elf said. "Our healer is busy tending the wounded, and I was able to wrap it for her and apply poultices to numb the pain, but it will be a few hours until she can be seen to. She is being very brave," the elf added for the girl's benefit, and the child smiled a little, but her lips trembled.

Wynne's eyes softened, and she knelt by the girl. "Perhaps I can help. May I see your arm?" she asked quietly.

The girl looked to her elder, but then nodded when there was no objection. Wynne's touch was very gentle as she probed with deft fingers. After a moment she began to murmur, and a golden glow enveloped the girl's arm. Karel's eyes widened, and a look of relief spread over her fine features as Wynne continued to murmur. After a moment, Wynne unwrapped the arm, and Karel moved it experimentally.

"Any better?" Wynne asked, her eyes sparkling. Karel nodded enthusiastically, and went to her elder, who looked in disbelief at the girl's healed arm. Karel rushed to Wynne and threw her skinny arms around her, hugging her tight. Wynne's eyes closed as she hugged the girl back before Karel sped off.

"You have healing magic!" the elven woman said, her voice reverent.

"She is like the healer in the woods - Aneirin," someone whispered.

Wynne's head snapped around. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" she said faintly.

"Aneirin," one of the elves volunteered. "He is a healer hermit who lives in the woods, and sometimes he will agree to help our clan. His magic is like yours - we cannot heal broken bones, only Aneirin can do that."

Wynne had gone pale, her face haunted. "Aneirin... it is a... common name, among elves?" she said finally.

The elf shook her head. "No, I know of only one Aneirin. He studied at the Circle Tower when he was young, so perhaps you know him, lady?"

"I... think perhaps I do," Wynne said softly.

Lyra's brow furrowed as she looked from Wynne to the elves. _Something _was going on, but what? Much as she wanted to know, another glance at Wynne's stricken face told her the moment might not be appropriate for probing questions. She turned back to the elves. "Where is this Aneirin? Is he easy to find?" Lyra asked.

"His hut is a few miles east of here. He tends the herds of halla that inhabit these woods." The elf gave a bit more detail, and Lyra filed the information away. Perhaps Wynne would like to be reunited with an old friend.

Lanaya was approaching with a middle-aged elf in tow. "Wardens, this is Athras. He has agreed to guide you into the forest. I spoke with Varathorn as well - he asked that I give you these." She handed each of them a leather thong with a bundle of tightly bound herbs hanging from it. "It is wolfsbane. Varathorn said he was saving these for the few who would drive the aravels when we left the forest, but that you should have them now, if you plan on seeking Witherfang. Wear them - perhaps they will offer protection."

Lyra slipped the thong around her neck, as did Wynne and Alistair. She took one for Zevran as well, and then knelt to put one around Kestrel's neck.

"When you are prepared, Wardens, I will lead you to the place where my brethren were attacked," Athras said. Lyra looked at her companions, who nodded.

"Now or never," Alistair said wearily.

Lyra called to Zevran, and they followed Athras out of the camp and into the forest.

.oOo.

"Look here. Prints." Athras pointed to a place where the ground had been torn open.

Lyra knelt and looked carefully. Tracking had never been her strong suit, but Alistair seemed to recognize what Athras was talking about. "That doesn't belong to a kitten, I take it," Alistair said in a dry voice.

Athras ignored him, continuing to scan the ground. In a moment he crept forward once more, leading them further down the trail.

Kestrel whined at Lyra, and she reluctantly signaled him to follow Athras more closely. Maker only knew what might happen if Kestrel caught a scent and got overexcited. "Be careful, dog," she murmured.

He gave her a sidelong glance, then _whuffed_ and trotted up to Athras' heel.

"Bloody werewolves," Alistair muttered.

"Alistair, you are all too certain of your own death. That is your problem. I find the best way to avoid certain death, is never to be certain it is coming," Zevran said.

"What are you talking about?" Alistair asked, irritated.

"I remember once, in Antiva, when I was being hunted by a group of nobles and a lame beggar-"

"Zevran, I really, really don't care to hear it right now," Alistair snapped in a weary voice. "Besides, I'm not completely certain I'm going to die... I could always throw you to the wolves and then run as fast as I can."

Zevran laughed, a loud, hearty sound, then slapped his neck with a frustrated grunt. "Damned mosquitos. I am being eaten alive in this... green jungle. Whose idea was it to leave the city?"

Droplets of sweat trickled down Lyra's back, her skin sticky beneath her armor. The clothing the Dalish wore might be revealing, but at least it was cool. She was on the verge of begging Wynne to conjure a breeze when a low growl sundered the quiet.

In less time than it took to blink, a grey blur shot out of the underbrush. Zevran tumbled out of its path, barely clearing the way in time. Alistair's blade flew into his hand as Lyra fumbled her own sword out of its sheath, too startled to be efficient. Kestrel barked madly, hackles raised, and Wynne's arm threw something invisible at the creature.

It froze on the spot.

Lyra's heart had climbed into her throat. Shoulders rounding, she loosed a tense breath before glancing at Wynne in question.

"A paralysis spell, but limited in nature. I had it prepared, to give us a slight advantage," the mage explained.

No further movement came from the bushes, and so they crept up on the creature with weapons drawn. Athras' bow was taut, an arrow nocked and ready to loose, but neither of the Wardens' enchanted swords had activated. Was there no hostile intent?

The werewolf was smaller than they'd assumed; a compact bundle of fur and teeth, larger than a typical wolf but still smaller than Lyra. Ropy muscles criss-crossed its feral body, the skin mottled and brown as dirt. The paws - hands? Shaped like hands, but sporting wicked claws patches of coarse fur. The creature's feet were similar; a meld of feet and paws, but the talons were rounded, as if they were used for gripping rather than tearing. _Like Kestrel_, Lyra thought.

The animal trembled as the Paralysis wore off. Zevran moved to strike, but Lyra's gesture held him back. If her sword wasn't reacting, there had to be a reason.

"Please... help... me..." a raspy voice moaned.

Without another thought, Lyra sheathed her weapons and knelt by the wolf, ignoring Alistair's protesting cry. "Did you speak?" she whispered.

The wolf groaned again. "My name is... Danyla. I am... _was_...an elf." The voice was racked with pain, gasping for breath between her words.

"Danyla?" Disbelief and broken hope filled Athras' voice.

The wolf turned her head to peer at their elven guide. "Athras..." she whispered.

Lyra backed up to allow Athras to gather the wolf into his arms. They clung to each other as Athras began to weep.

"I was sure I would never see you again..." Athras whispered. His arms tightened around the wolf, and Danyla gave a anguished cry.

"Please, Athras... you must kill me. End my pain," Danyla guttered in her growling voice.

Athras shook his head, his eyes wild with grief.

"I... am done for," Danyla whimpered. "It was my last wish to see you once again, and by some grace of fortune I have been granted that. But please... the pain... is too much. I beg you - release me!"

Wynne stepped forward to kneel beside the wolf, her hands aglow as she began a magical chant. Healing magic flowed forth, and Danyla's eyes cleared, her labored breaths easing.

"The curse burns within her blood. I can feel it when I touch her. I cannot take away all of her pain," Wynne said regretfully.

Lyra whispered to Alistair, "All of the werewolves must hurt like this. We've got to end this curse."

"Have you healed her?" Athras begged, his eyes filling with happy tears when Wynne nodded.

"To the best of my ability," the healer told him. "Her ribs were broken, and a lung had been pierced. But now, it is only the curse that causes her pain."

"Danyla, we seek Witherfang. Your clan has been attacked by the wolves - " Lyra began, but Danyla was already nodding.

"Yes. The wolves spoke of the attack. They hoped Zathrian would come to them - they want to make him break the curse. I can take you to the Lady of the Forest."

"Wait, Zathrian can break the curse? Then why doesn't he?" Alistair asked, perplexed. "He told us he needed Witherfang's heart to cure the elves."

"Please, I am still new, and you... smell... so..." a fierce growl ripped from Danyla's throat, whetted fangs gleaming.

Alistair pulled Lyra away in alarm. Kestrel growled, muscles bunching, but then Wynne murmured again as golden curls of light drifted from her fingers.

Danyla relaxed. "I am sorry. Please do not ask questions, just come with me. I will take you to the Lady of the Forest." Gesturing, she loped off, and the rest had no choice but to follow.

.oOo.

Every muscle in Alistair's body had tensed to such a level, he was half certain he'd be unable to move in the morning. Seeing Lyra kneel beside an injured werewolf had been enough to stop his heart. But now, they were following this Danyla back to the den. The _den_. Where there would be even more werewolves.

_Lots_ of them.

Despite the tropical warmth that plagued the forest, Alistair shivered.

He risked a glance at Lyra, who hardly seemed concerned. She jogged at his side, watching Danyla as the wolf growled softly to Athras.

On Lyra's other flank ran Kestrel. The dog was likewise absorbed in the creature they followed, his concentration absolute. His run wasn't casual... Alistair knew without a doubt, if Danyla put one toe out of line, Kestrel would take her down, or die trying. All to protect his mistress. _Lyra _needs_ a mabari,_ Alistair thought with wry humor. _She's likely to get us all killed._

The forest thinned soon after that, leading to a clearing backed by a ruin of stone that looked as if it might have been a fortress in some ancient year. Danyla gave a strange howl, and at least a dozen wolves melted from the trees.

Every instinct screamed for him to draw his sword, but instead Alistair gripped Lyra's hand tightly, hoping she wouldn't detect the tremble in his bones. Kestrel gave a low, deep growl, his lips curling back. Lyra put a warning hand on his head.

In the center of the cleaing, one wolf unfolded from its canid stance, standing upright on two muscled legs. This one was bigger than the others, its pelt thicker, its eyes vivid and piercing. _The alpha_, Alistair thought.

"Danyla... you live," it growled. "But you bring humans? We seek the Keeper! They mean to kill us!"

Snarls filled the clearing, and Alistair bit back a frantic oath as his eyes skimmed the treeline. They'd been hemmed in. But before he could think of what to do, a soothing voice quieted the harsh, animalistic sounds. "Hush, Swiftrunner. They may yet help."

The leader bowed his head, his body hunching into a penitent crouch. As one, the wolves dropped to their knees, bodies gone slack with reverence.

Just where the woman had come from, Alistair couldn't say. She was simply there, moving among the weres, her graceful hands trailing over them as she glided over the forest floor. Liquid and flowing, like a river given human form, she moved without a sound over the dried bracken. She was nude, which might have been strange - but nothing had ever seemed more natural, her lissome body twined with vines and flowers. Gray-green as the forest leaves, her perfect skin shimmered, drinking the sunlight that flitted through the canopy. Blossoms drifted from her fingertips, gossamer petals that danced through the air. Even the sunlight seemed to glitter, made more radiant by her presence. Her eyes were dark orbs, black as onyx and featureless as that polished stone, with no whites to distract from their startling depths. She stared through the clearing, unblinking, her ethereal gaze calming the fear in Alistair's heart. Whatever happened here, it would not end in death.

"I am the Lady of the Forest," she intoned, clear as a bell. "And I am also Witherfang, the one you seek."

At his side, Lyra drew a breath of shock. Kestrel dropped to his belly, his tension vanishing. If Alistair hadn't already been certain of their safety, this alone would have confirmed it.

"Please, listen to our story," the Lady continued. "I doubt that Zathrian has told you all."

She spoke of the curse Zathrian had woven centuries before, tied into his own life and the life of the forest. She told them of his insane need for revenge, of the crimes committed against his own children by a group of human bandits. "And so, he doomed those responsible to an eternity of torment."

"He told us nothing of this," Lyra vowed, her voice hard. "Only that he needed Witherfang's heart to cure his people."

"Zathrian's heart has hardened," the Lady said. "His people believe he has recaptured the longevity of their race, but in truth, his life is tied to the curse. So long as it continues, so shall he. His hatred is great. We have suffered for centuries, and our ranks have grown as the curse has spread - the poison in Zathrian's heart multiplying and infecting others. Now, his own people are in danger."

"Yes, because you attacked them," Zevran pointed out.

The Lady turned sorrowful eyes on him. "This is not the first time I have attempted to heal my brothers. When Zathrian's aravels passed this way again, we thought to force a confrontation, yes. The Keeper ignores our plight, and the curse must be broken. We have endured enough." Her voice was passionate and sad. "Please, bring Zathrian to us. Let him talk with us. Let him see that the werewolves are not mindless monsters. Will you do this?"

It was no surprise when Lyra nodded, her eyes bright with tears. "I will do all that I can to bring this curse to an end," she promised.

Alistair squeezed her hand in agreement.

She gave him a gratified look, then turned to the others. "I think one of us should stay, to guarantee that we will return."

"I shall stay," Athras said firmly. Danyla growled in agreement.

"I shall stay as well. Perhaps I can ease some of their suffering," Wynne volunteered.

Lyra nodded. "Let's hurry."


	31. A New Lease On Life

**Chapter 29  
>A New Lease on Life<strong>

Lyra's boots resounded against the forest floor, the rhythm of her run synced with the beat of her heart. She drew deeply on the green air around them, doing her best to keep a steady pace that would get them back to the Dalish as quickly as possible.

Kestrel ranged ahead, and Alistair and Zevran ran just behind her. Everyone was eager to return to the elves, and without Wynne's need for a subdued pace, they could run freely.

But the heat of day soon proved more than their armor-clad bodies could handle. Zevran spoke up at last, "Why are we running? I am sweating more than is good for me, I am certain," he panted.

"You're sweating?" Alistair said, his breathing heavy. "I'd kill to be wearing what you're wearing right now."

"Yes, I do not blame you. What _does_ splintmail weigh? Fifty pounds? Sixty?"

"More than you, probably," Alistair jibed. "How tall are you, anyway?"

"I am tall where it counts. Trust me, my friend."

"How are you two talking while we run?" Lyra called back to them, feeling winded.

"Why are we running at all? _Bella flor_, let us walk instead," Zevran urged. "Or at the least, let us walk and _then_ run. Are you not dying in this hellish atmosphere?"

For answer, Lyra slowed to a stop and dug Alistair's handkerchief from her pouch. It was a relief to mop the sweat from her brow. "Do we need to find a stream?"

"My skin is still half full," Alistair said as he tipped it into his mouth.

"As is mine."

Lyra nodded, lifting her own waterskin to take a deep pull. They'd hiked for hours already, even before their trek to find the wolves, and the heat sapped energy like nothing else. Alistair had told her of the way he'd carried her back to Redcliffe after Zevran's ambush; at a jog, over uneven terrain, for hours. No one could ever say that he was anything less than immensely strong. But this blasted _heat_...

On top of everything else, a headache had crept its way over her skull. Capping her waterskin, Lyra yanked the helmet from her head, setting it by her feet. Instantly, the pain receded somewhat - but not enough. Her braids felt heavy and tight, the pins digging into her scalp. She began pulling the cursed clips from her plaits, delighting in the weightlessness that came with doing so.

"Should you be doing that?" Alistair asked, his brow wrinkling.

"Probably not," she grinned at him. "But my head hurts, and it's because of these damned pins."

"Put your helmet back on, at least."

"Alistair, it's not going to make a difference. The werewolves are friendly, there won't be any more attacks. I'll put it on in a minute," she assured him. Her head was itchy, too, and she sighed as her nails raked beneath her sweat-soaked hair.

Kestrel sniffed at a nearby tree, and lifted his leg. Lyra considered undoing her braids and really freeing her hair, but then sighed and opened a pin with her teeth, holding it ready while she began to coil the braid up once more.

A screech of wood and shivering leaves froze her movements, and she turned to see the tree her dog had just relieved himself on come to vivid, angry life. Kestrel yelped in fear and jumped back as claw-like branches swiped at him, and the hairpin tumbled from Lyra's mouth and was lost in the leaves under her feet.

"Holy... Maker..." Alistair stammered, paling beneath his sun-browned skin. The tree roared and lifted its roots from the ground to stomp toward them, grabbing with withered branches. Another tree roused, and then another, the grove animating before their eyes. Angry faces scowled at them from the twisted branches, and the sound of their displeasure howled like the wind at midnight.

Kestrel ran to Lyra and huddled against her leg, whimpering in misery.

"Don't apologize now, Kestrel, just help us!" she cried as she slashed a grabbing branch out of the way. Kestrel dove into the fray, barking and jumping at the trees. Roots lifted beneath Lyra's feet, pitching her into a graceless heap upon the forest floor.

Lyra struggled to her feet, but more roots rose from the soil and coiled over her, attempting to immobilize her completely. Vines snaked into loose crevices in her armor and took hold with tiny claws, jerking her back to the ground. Lyra shrieked, terror-stricken as sinuous vines threaded through her long braids, yanking her head down toward the earth.

The men fought their own battle, unaware that Lyra had been pinned to the forest floor by bloodthirsty greenery. Kestrel howled and snapped at the rogue vines, but a branch snapped up from the earth, knocking him sideways. Lyra sucked in a breath, preparing to loose a fearful yell - and was silenced by a vine that tightened 'round her neck. Her eyes widened in terror as her air was slowly cut off, choked off by the killer plants. The world dimmed to starry-red as the pressure increased.

The sounds of the fight filled Lyra's ears; Alistair's war-cry and Zevran's mocking laugh, the metallic ring of weaponry and the wooden smash of splinters. Feebly, Lyra struggled, managing to draw a tiny, rasping breath. The vines tightened.

Zevran was the first to realize the trouble that Lyra was in, rushing to her aid when there was only one tree left standing. His daggers made quick work of the roots that held her fast, slicing through the choking vines at her throat. Blood-red sap flew as Lyra gasped a frantic breath, coughing and panting as her vision cleared. The elven assassin knocked the hungry grasses from her body, but her hair remained snared by a network of roots and thorns.

Alistair arrived a moment later, having toppled the last tree. "What in-" he began, looking stricken.

"I got caught," Lyra said, her voice hoarse. "But it's okay now."

Zevran's blade prodded the creeping plantlife back from her head as he inspected, trying to work the thick braids out of the thorns. "My flower..." Zevran said hesitantly. "I am afraid we will have to cut your hair. It is simply too tangled, and there is sap, and... I am sorry_._"

Lyra reached back, feeling the mess of twigs and stickiness her braids had become. Even now, tendrils of vine twirled upward, tickling her prodding fingers. She gritted her teeth as she felt a cautious tug from the vines, then swallowed a sob as she squeezed her eyes shut. "Do it."

Zevran's dagger sliced neatly through each braid, cutting close to her neck and leaving her hair very short indeed. The long ropes fell away, and immediately the forest pulled them down into the ground, where they were... digested.

Twigs and bits of vine fell away as Lyra combed her fingers through her much-shortened hair, fluffing it experimentally. She felt too free, too unencumbered. Not daring to look at Alistair, she recalled the riverbank the night before, when he'd told her how beautiful her hair was. What would he think of her now?

Throat tight, Lyra marched over to her abandoned helmet and jammed it down upon her head, hiding her hair from staring eyes. "Let's go."

There was no talk as the men followed her through the forest.

.oOo.

Lyra had said little as they traveled, pushing them to keep going, impatient and snappish when they stopped for breaks. After the encounter with the trees, Alistair was more than happy to comply. Guilt gnawed at him... he should have been there to help her, should have been the one to free her. Instead, Zevran had come to her rescue - and Alistair could feel Lyra's hurt over that.

But he'd been fighting the trees - he'd had no idea she was even in trouble.

Somehow, he had a feeling that it was _this_ that she was angry about. _I'm miserable at this relationship thing_, he berated himself. But just what should he have done differently? He couldn't figure it out.

They arrived at the Dalish camp soon afterward, and were greeted by Lanaya. "You are back, so soon! ...Where is Athras? And your healer?" she questioned, worry crinkling the spot above her nose.

"We found the wolves. Things are... not as we expected," Lyra said in a crisp voice. "Athras and Wynne have remained with them as a guarantee that we will return. Please, we must take Zathrian to them so he can break the curse and cure your people."

"Athras is there with them?" Lanaya frowned. "And... you are sure he is safe?"

"They are not the beasts we assumed, Lanaya," Lyra said, her voice weary. "Athras will be safe - so long as Zathrian returns with us. He wishes to break the curse? It can be done - if he comes."

Lanaya considered for a moment, her eyes searching.

"It is true, Lanaya." Zevran took a step forward. "Athras is safe. Our own healer is there with them - we would not leave her to die."

Alistair nodded. Why hadn't _he_ said something like that? Why was the smooth elf stealing all his lines?

Lanaya's gaze speared through them, then she gave a sharp, satisfied nod. "Very well. I will fetch Zathrian." She hurried off.

"Thanks, Zev," Lyra muttered.

"Of course, _bella flor."_

Alistair scowled.

Zevran cleared his throat. "I... will wait. Over there."

Lyra nodded, then turned away, her shoulders hunching as she folded her arms. Zevran tipped his head in her direction, giving Alistair a meaningful glance.

Alistair lifted his hands helplessly. What was he supposed to-

Zevran rolled his eyes, gave Alistair's shoulder a shove, then sauntered off to the storyteller's fire, where a pretty girl waited with longing eyes.

"Ow," Alistair muttered, rubbing his shoulder. "Ass."

"What?" Lyra turned back to look at him.

"Uh... nothing." With a breath for courage, Alistair minced toward her. "How - how are you?"

"Don't ask me that right now," she whispered back.

"Look, I'm sorry about the trees," he said, his voice anguished. "Don't be mad. I should have come to help you sooner, I know it. But I didn't know-"

"Oh, Maker." Lyra gave a wry chuckle. "It isn't that. You had a few demon trees to take care of." Stepping toward him, she slipped her arms around his waist.

Alistair's heart crawled out from the rock it had buried itself beneath. Relief flooded him as he wrapped her into a hug. "Then what's wrong?"

A sob choked from her throat. "My_ hair_," she whispered.

Alistair frowned, puzzled. "Your hair?"

In his arms, Lyra trembled, and his heart twisted when he realized she was crying. There was only one thing to do - hold her tighter.

"It's just hair, I keep telling myself... but it's not helping." She hiccupped, her face buried in his neck as she sniffled. But some of the anxiety had left her voice. "I know, I'm a baby."

A thousand little things came back to him, then. Lyra combing her hair in camp, coiling it up into the braided rounds. The dozen hairpins he'd pulled from those braids on their first night together. The way it looked as it gleamed in the firelight, the hanks of fibers slipping through his fingers...

He lifted the helm from her head. She winced as he did, a wash of panic filling her eyes. Her new locks were shaggy, uneven - truly, she looked as if she'd been barbered with a dull knife. But it hardly changed who she was. "Your hair doesn't matter to me," he said quietly. "_You're_ the thing I care about. You've nearly been killed by trees, abominations, Darkspawn and Antivan Crows - I don't give two bits whether your hair is as short as mine or as long as it used to be. So long as you're here, and you're with me." Tipping her face upward, he touched her lips with his.

"You have not brought Witherfang's heart," Zathrian's stern voice interrupted them. Lyra pulled out of Alistair's embrace as both of them turned to the Keeper. "This is the only thing that can cure my people. You have wasted my time, and endangered a hunter of my clan. You have not held up your end of the bargain, and therefore I cannot hold up mine."

The judgmental chill in Zathrian's voice froze Alistair's tongue. But Lyra was not so easily silenced.

Eyes flashing, she jutted her chin toward the elf. "We spoke with Witherfang. She told us you can end the curse without killing her and taking her heart. So why haven't you?" Venom filled the young Warden's voice. "They aren't simple beasts... they spoke to us, told us their story, and they want to talk to you. All they want to do is talk! The werewolves did _not_ attack us, even though they outnumbered us three to one. You have avoided your responsibilities to your people and to your culture. If you refuse to come with us now, you are condemning your clan to death, and dooming Ferelden to the will of the Archdemon! How can you do this? We have done_ everything_ you asked, and now you think to turn us away? Do not make me kill you, elf, and make Lanaya the Keeper of your clan. Perhaps _she_ will do the right thing."

Alistair hissed a warning at Lyra as Lanaya drew a shocked breath, but she ignored him.

"If you kill me, the curse will never end," Zathrian said softly. He seemed unperturbed by her words, forceful though they were. Eyes wide, Alistair's gaze swung back to Lyra.

"Then don't force my hand," she returned. "Come with us. Do your duty to your people."

Zathrian was silent for a moment, then said, "Very well. Lanaya, remain here. I will return soon with Witherfang's heart."

The Keeper strode from the camp. Alistair signaled Zevran, and the three of them hurried to keep up.

.oOo.

It was a wordless journey back through the forest, and to Lyra's further surprise, Zathrian knew exactly where to go. Lyra ground her teeth, wondering how many times Zathrian's aravels had driven through these forests, bypassing the ones he'd cursed without a second thought. _How many secrets has he kept from us, and from his people?_ she thought, her anger simmering. It wasn't long before they arrived at the ruin, and Wynne and Athras stood to greet them.

But instead of speaking to his hunter, Zathrian walked directly into the center of the ruin, where the Lady of the Forest stood waiting.

"So, Forest Spirit. You think to force my hand. But I will not be manipulated," Zathrian vowed in a hard voice.

A menacing snarl lifted, rumbling from every fanged mouth.

Athras stepped closer to one particular wolf - Danyla, Lyra assumed. "Please, Keeper...lift the curse. My wife- "

"Your wife has been lost, Athras," Zathrian bit out. "I tried to keep the knowledge from you, but you sought answers anyway, and now there is nothing I can do. She must be slain, along with the rest of these beasts." Zathrian lifted his hands, and Wynne gave a dismayed shout as streams of verdant magic shot from the elf's fingertips.

The werewolf called Swiftrunner launched himself at Zathrian, and the two went down in a tangle of limbs. Lyra's stomach turned as she watched Swiftrunner bare his teeth, his head plunging downward to rip into Zathrian. The Lady of the Forest cried out, and Swiftrunner backed off, his great body heaving with rage.

Wynne pushed her way forward, dropping to her knees at Zathrian's side. Her healing magic flowed, cloaking the Keeper in a golden glow... but after a moment, she looked up. "He lives... but he has been bitten. I cannot cure him," she said softly.

"Nor should you!" Swiftrunner howled. "He brought this on us - let him join us or break the curse!"

Gray and bleeding, Zathrian rose from the forest floor, his bitter eyes finding the Lady of the Forest. "It seems you have cornered me, Spirit. But I would rather kill myself than end the curse!"

The Lady's voice brimmed with sorrow. "Hasn't there been enough pain and suffering, Zathrian? It has been centuries since the hurt was inflicted upon you... is there no forgiveness in your heart? Do not prolong it any more. Please. Bring an end to the curse. Cure your people, and free us all."

Zathrian did not move, his stubborn features carved in granite.

Athras chanced to step forward. "Keeper... please," he breathed.

The bullheaded elf's eyes flickered toward the hunter and rested there for a long moment. A sigh escaped Zathrian, then, his shoulders sagging as his eyes closed. "Forgiveness... I do not know if I have it in me," he whispered, then looked up. "And what of you, Spirit? Your life is bound to the curse, just as mine is. Ending it will kill us both. Have you no fear of death?"

The Lady seemed to glow as she spoke, and the drifting blossoms glimmered in the rays of sunlight. "I have felt love, loss, pain, and pleasure. I have known family, friendship, loneliness, and sorrow. My life has been unending, and filled with more than I ever dared to dream of... and now, Creator... I desire nothing more... than an _end_." Her voice was soft, but the wind wept as it gusted through the trees.

Zathrian's eyes closed once more, grief shadowing his face. He'd been nothing but stone-faced through every encounter, but now, something had finally cracked his marble exterior. "Yes... I do understand that, Spirit," he said quietly.

The forest waited, not a sound echoing through the trees.

"Then let us end it, Spirit. Together, as it was begun."

With nary a sound, the Lady glided forward to clasp the Keeper's hands in her own. Zathrian turned his face toward the earth, deep concentration descending over him. The wind rippled through the canopy, and pale pillars of light arose from the understory, spearing upward around Zathrian and the Lady. Brighter, and brighter still, til Lyra threw her hand up to cover her eyes. When the light faded, Zathrian's body drifted slowly to the ground and lay still.

The Lady of the Forest looked to each of her wolves, who knelt once more, their muzzles lifting as their keened a mourning song for their beloved mistress. But she did not look frightened or sad. Peace and happiness filled her face, and love radiated from her like sunshine. A gentle breeze wove through the clearing, and the Lady began to dissolve... she became blossoms and bark, green grass and summer fruits, autumn leaves and skeletal limbs, until everything simply blew away, her earthly body rejoining the forest once more.

The wolves began to dissolve, as well... fur fell from bodies, claws shrank, canines retreated, bodies transfigured and changed. Within moments, it was done. Three humans and nine elves stood naked before them.

Danyla threw her arms around Athras, who held her tightly as both of them wept. The others looked wonderingly at their hands and feet, at their tender, hairless bodies.

Alistair's eyes sought the ground, and Lyra felt her cheeks heating. There was nothing to be done about their sudden nudity - they had no clothing to offer the people. She risked a glance at Zevran, who was surprisingly _not_ leering at the nakedness that surrounded them.

Athras finished his reunion with Danyla, and stepped forward. "Please, allow me to speak for a moment. Zathrian had the best of intentions, even if his methods were less than honorable. I beg of you, please do not tell the rest of the clan what has transpired. Zathrian's memory should remain untarnished in his people's eyes. I will tell everyone that Zathrian sacrificed himself to break the curse... which is nothing but the truth. The rest can remain unknown. Is this fair in everyone's eyes?"

The others nodded, although one of the humans seemed annoyed by this. Lyra assumed he had been the one called Swiftrunner.

"Come with us," Athras said then. "We will clothe and feed you, and I will speak to the new Keeper about joining the clan, if you would like."

"What about us?" the human female spoke up. "The Dalish won't want _us_ to join them."

"The city of Denerim is only a few days' walk from here," Alistair put in. "I'm sure you could find homes and employment."

"I have family in Denerim," one of the men volunteered. "We can stay with them for a few days at least... I'm sure they think me lost," he said with grim humor.

"And now," Athras said, "Will you join me in bearing Zathrian back to the clan?"

Silently, the elves walked forward, and eight pairs of arms gathered the Keeper up. They bore him on their shoulders, and Lyra, Alistair, Wynne and Zevran followed the funeral procession back to the Dalish. As they walked, Danyla began to sing a lament in the Elvehn language, the mysterious lyrics haunting.

Tears flowed down Lyra's cheeks. These new elves, naked and unprotected, carrying the body of the man whose curse had made them into walking nightmares... but who had given his own life to save theirs. _They've been granted a new lease on life_, she thought as they walked. _Not all are as lucky..._

She realized that she, Lyra Cousland, was in fact one of the lucky ones, and she squeezed Alistair's hand, trusting him to lead her as her vision blurred further.

.oOo.

"Please, stay and feast with us tonight," Lanaya invited warmly.

Alistair grinned in response to Lyra's questioning glance. "I'm willing," he said.

Wynne agreed as well, and Zevran had already vanished to Maker knew where.

"Thank you," Lyra said, bowing her head. "The Dalish honor us."

"Oh, enough already. Saving the clan makes you family, you're through being diplomats." Lanaya's eyes sparkled as she took Lyra's hand. "Alistair, go with Durion. I'll take charge of these two." Gesturing to Wynne, Lanaya led the two of them into her aravel and shut the door.

Durion - the young man he'd seen with Lanaya - led Alistair back to another aravel to clean up. It was wonderful to strip out of the heavy splintmail, splash cooled water on his body, and sponge the dust from his face and hair. Durion managed to find clothing that would fit him - no easy task, as the Dalish males were thinner and shorter than himself - and offered to take Alistair's splintmail away for cleaning.

The sun had gone down when he emerged once more - to find the camp transformed. Globes of light had been strung between the trees, and every firepit was in use, the cheerful flames welcome in the surprising cool of the evening. Incredible smells emanated from... well, everywhere. Fruit, meat, bread - Alistair's stomach gnawed upon itself, his nose urging him in half a dozen directions.

"Alistair, look at you. You clean up well." Lanaya's teasing voice turned him around. The pretty elf nodded in approval as Durion slipped an arm around her waist and kissed her temple. "Without those rounded ears, you might even pass for Dalish!"

"Too tall, I'd imagine," Alistair chuckled.

But Lanaya cocked her head and pursed her lips. "You _are_ fully human, aren't you?"

"Naya," Durion laughed. "What kind of a question is that?"

"There's no elven blood in your line, is there?" Lanaya ignored her partner, her sharp eyes peering at Alistair.

"Uh... not that I know of?" Alistair shifted uncomfortably beneath her scrutiny.

At last, Lanaya gave a short laugh and clasped Durion's hand. "I'm seeing things. Come on. You must be half starved."

"I'll come, too."

Alistair glanced back - and stared.

Lyra crept down the steps of Lanaya's aravel, clothed in the costume of the Dalish women. A very short skirt hugged her slim hips, the sides slit to her waist. More like a loincloth, he realized, with the front and back draped to give the appearance of a skirt. Her belly was bared, smooth muscles highlighted in the fire's glow. A green leather top ended just below her breasts, the clinging fabric accentuating her slender frame. Alistair's mouth dried as he watched her walk toward him, her hips swaying gently.

Knee-high boots wrapped with leather thongs encased her feet, the suede soft as butter. Such long legs... would he ever cease to go slack-jawed over them? Curves as gentle as the Bannorn's hills, her skin smooth and pale, untouched by sun and wind.

And her hair.

Gone were the ragged ends; it had been trimmed to a blunt cut, ending just below her chin. Small sections of her chestnut locks had been tied into tails, fastened with carved wooden beads at the top and bottom.

She was charming.

"We'll give you a moment," Lanaya's amused voice said, but Alistair hardly noticed.

"Is it okay?" Lyra asked, her eyes wide as she searched his face. "I have no idea what Lanaya did to me. There's no mirror."

"Uh... yes!" Alistair stammered, finding a semblance of his voice. "You - you look-"

Lyra covered her face, her shoulders hunching. Muffled words came from her hands. "You hate it."

"No! No, I - Maker, no," Alistair hurried the words out, praying his gibberish would be understood. "I - I didn't think - Lyra, Maker's breath. You look - I - I didn't think it was even possible for me to want you _more_."

Blue eyes peeked from between her fingers. "Really?" she uttered.

"Oh, hang this," Alistair growled, sweeping forward to wrap her into an embrace. She squeaked with surprise, but then his lips were on hers, her body soft and resilient as he held her close. His thumb traced her cheek as their mouths melted together, his fingers sliding back through her hair. Maker, but she was a miracle, all sweetness and beauty, rolled into a package that fit neatly in his arms. Desire flamed as the kiss deepened, the scant clothing doing little to slow his growing passion. In such an outfit, it was almost as if she wore nothing at all.

Lyra wilted into him, a sigh of contentment lifting as her arms wound around his neck.

"So you like it?" she murmured when he released her at last.

"Kinda. I mean, it's okay," he murmured, brushing her nose with his.

Her eyes closed as she grazed her lips over his, a smile teasing the corners of her mouth. "Aren't you starving?"

"Mmhm." Alistair dipped inward once more.

Delighted laughter from Lyra as he nibbled her neck, adoring the taste of her skin. "I meant for food."

"Well, sure, now that you say it, I guess I am." Alistair grinned as he pressed a final kiss to her neck, amazed that she was allowing such a display. Taking her hand, he tugged her toward the fires.

They ate and drank their fill, the food simple and wholesome. After supper the elves produced lutes, wooden drums and reed flutes, and the dancing began. Alistair refused at first, but Lyra begged, and he hadn't the heart to refuse her.

"You'll regret it," he warned as she tugged him out onto the dance floor.

"It's easy," she laughed. "We don't need to do anything complicated."

"I doubt I _could _do anything complicated."

Soon he was stepping all over her feet, but she swore he was doing well, and dancing became positively easy when the music slowed. Lyra led him through what she called "some version of a waltz", though he was certain that most formal dancers didn't hold each other quite so closely. Not that he was complaining.

After a bit more dancing, Lyra allowed him to drag her back to the sidelines, where a comely elven lass poured them both cups of wine. Zevran, as always, was surrounded by beauties, and spent far less time dancing than he did in flirting and talking. But when he did take the floor, the Dalish clapped in appreciation.

"Is there anything he can't do?" Alistair wondered as they watched Zevran jump and twirl to the music. He'd taken center stage, seeming totally at home amidst his forest brethren.

"Sure. He can't pick a lock," Lyra giggled. She raised her cup to her lips, taking another swallow.

"Neither can I," Alistair jibed. The wine had gone a bit to his head. "So how come you like me, instead of him?"

Lyra plopped her arms around his neck, leaned in, and pressed her lips to his cheek. "You're better looking. And sweeter. And you didn't try and murder me."

"About time someone recognized that," he grinned.

"You're quite the dancer, Alistair." Wynne's mirthful voice sounded as she sat down near them.

"You're just saying that because you think I look cute in these clothes," Alistair said in an airy voice. Lyra dissolved into giggles.

Wynne's eyes sparkled. "Careful, young man. If I were twenty years younger, Lyra would have stiff competition."

"Oh, that is just - wow, really?" Alistair peered into his cup. "Am I really that drunk, or is Wynne hitting on me?"

"Is it so hard to believe?" Wynne chuckled, her urbane voice as smooth as always. "You're a good-looking man, Alistair. I imagine you've had plenty of attention from women. And you wouldn't be the first man to fall prey to the wiles of an older female."

Alistair blushed red as an apple, unamused by Lyra's hysterical laughter. "Shouldn't you be jealous?" he muttered, poking her in the side.

"You should see your face," Lyra gasped, wiping tears.

"Yes. Well. On that note." Alistair stood, pulling Lyra up with him. "I'm for bed."

Lyra sagged into him, her body shaking with laughter as she choked out a goodnight to Wynne. But before Alistair was able to lead her away, Danyla jogged up, dragging a young elf behind her.

"Wynne! Look who I found," she crowed. "Sarla was telling me earlier about how you fixed Karel's arm, and how you had talked about Aneirin - the healer from the woods. He just arrived, and I brought him over to see you!"

The elf on Danyla's arm looked quite surprised. "Wynne?" he said softly.

Wynne stood, her levity vanished, replaced with something far more grave. "Aneirin. It is... good to see you," she said softly.

"We were just saying goodnight," Lyra said, nudging Alistair.

"Uh - Oh. Yes. Goodnight, Wynne... Aneirin."

Lyra twined her arm through his as they strolled away, leaving the healer to her private reunion. Others called goodnight as well, the family-like atmosphere filling Alistair with warmth. How wonderful the Dalish were.

Lanaya had offered them the use of her own aravel, and when they entered, they found that the roof had been opened to admit the moon and stars. Giving in to their desires at last, it was some time before they fell asleep to the music of crickets and cicadas, snuggled into each other in the cool of the spring evening.


	32. Apologies and Questions

**Chapter 30  
>Apologies and Questions<strong>

The languid sounds of the forest woke her, the first rays of the sun peeking through the slats in the aravel's roof. Lyra gave a sinuous stretch, delighting in the softness of the cushions beneath their bodies. Different from a real bed, but lovely, nevertheless. Much better than camping.

Alistair slept on. Lyra slipped her arms around him, cuddling close. Her movements woke him, and he shifted toward her, wrapping her tightly against him.

"Morning," he mumbled, the words thick with sleep.

"Good morning, bright eyes," she whispered, circling his nose with hers. Eyes still closed, he smiled, pulling in a deep breath as he squeezed her tighter, drawing a squeal from Lyra.

Before she could make another noise, his lips were on hers, his arms like a cage, his kiss hard and oblivious. Caught off guard, Lyra froze in surprise. _He's not really awake,_ she realized. Alistair had no idea that he was crushing her with affection. But then, was it so bad, being loved so much? Even in his sleep, Alistair wanted to hold her tight. Lyra gave up and coiled her arms around him, kissing him back. After all, it wasn't as though she disliked his ardor.

After a moment, he seemed to wake a bit, and his arms loosened as he sighed in contentment. "I like the Dalish," he whispered sleepily.

"Yes. They're good folk. Lanaya is wonderful."

"Mmmhmm. And I like their clothing, too... can you keep that outfit you had on last night?" Alistair nuzzled her neck, his breath raising goosebumps on her skin.

Lyra giggled. "I'll ask. Maker knows it was comfortable stuff. Not really appropriate for fighting Darkspawn, though."

"Oh, I dunno. I think you might stun them with sexiness." His lips grazed her neck as Lyra grinned, pleased at how much he liked the way she looked. "Of course, I like what you're wearing _now_ even better."

Lyra shivered under his touch. But hungry as she was for him, there had to be a limit. There were things to be done. "We need to go back to the Caravan today. I think Leliana would like to see the Dalish camp," she said, hoping to recall him to their duty.

Alistair nipped her neck. "Mmmm... probably."

"I wonder just who Aneirin is to Wynne. Did you see how bothered she got yesterday when his name came up?"

"Did she?" Alistair's hand ran the length of her torso, tracing the curve of her breast with gentle fingers.

"Yes, she did... Alistair, truly, it can't be eight hours since we did this last."

"I can't help it. You're like this grand feast, all laid out before me, and I feel like I've spent my life half-starved."

Butterflies danced beneath her skin, his lips tickling her neck. The hunger he spoke of raged within her, as well. She craved him with every breath, longed for his touch, ached to feel his body joined with hers. The desire that overran her thoughts seemed all out of proportion to how long they'd been together. Was such _wanting_ normal?

Lyra made one last attempt in the name of propriety. "Well, try, my darling. We have to do Warden-ey things _sometimes_."

"But official Warden-ey business can begin in an hour. I'm the senior Warden, and I say that's how it's going to happen."

Lyra sighed, then giggled as he kissed her again.

.oOo.

Pale light filtered through the trees, dappling the camp with still radiance. Lyra breathed deeply, enjoying the still-cool air before the heat of the day descended. Even with her tryst with Alistair, the morning was still brand new, and all was quiet. The soft Dalish leathers she'd worn yesterday had been the only thing to put on this morning, as her armor had been taken away for cleaning.

"Good morning, my flower. You are positively aglow this morning, and even more beautiful than usual. Did you sleep well?" Zevran smiled at her from his place beside a small fire.

"Well enough," she said, walking over and seating herself beside him. "You?"

"I slept very well, too. Perhaps there is something to be said for these Dalish. Their women... they are very _hospitable_."

"I'm sure they are." Lyra's eyes twinkled. She'd grown to like the rakish rogue, and his innuendos often made her giggle. "But tell me honestly Zev, is there anyplace you go that you _don't _find 'hospitable' women?"

"Honestly? No, I don't think there is. It is true - I am a great lover of women everywhere, and why should I not allow them to love me back?"

"Have you met the Dalish before this? Not this clan, obviously... but any others?"

"No, these are the first Dalish I have met. My mother was Dalish, however."

"Really," Lyra said, interested.

Zevran nodded. "She left her clan when she fell in love with an elven woodcutter from Antiva City. He did her the disservice of getting her pregnant, and then dying inconveniently. My mother was most annoyed."

"I... imagine she was," Lyra said, nonplussed.

"She became a whore to support herself, and when she died birthing me, the other whores raised me until I was seven. Oh, my _bella flor_, do not look so shocked. It was not a bad life - many of the whores had children, and we were like family. One of the women even taught me to read. And then when the Crows bought me, I had plenty of other children to play with. I had enough food, a warm bed, and a trade from an early age. What is wrong with that?"

Despite the sincerity and depth of his words, there was nothing forlorn about them. Lyra shook her head, unsure of how to react. "I... just can't imagine the way you must have grown up. It's so different from what _I_ know," she said at last.

Zevran chuckled. "There is more than one right way to live, _cara mia._ The life you live now is quite different from what your mother wanted for you, is it not?" he asked.

"You're right, it is," Lyra said, and sighed as she thought of her mother. "But other than my family being gone, I don't believe I would trade it, Zevran."

"Nor would I, my flower," he smiled. "Nor would I. But the thing you wouldn't trade most is now coming out of the wagon, so I will see about breakfast for all of us." He captured her hand and kissed it, then sauntered away to speak with Lanaya, who had emerged from another aravel. Lyra watched him go, then smiled up at Alistair as he sat beside her.

"Wonder where _he_ slept last night," Alistair commented. "He's turned out to be a pretty good sort, I think."

"He was just telling me about his mother. She was Dalish, apparently," Lyra mused, then thought about exactly what Alistair had just said. She turned to him. "How can you think that Zevran - an assassin who nearly killed us - has turned out to be a _good sort_, and yet you _still_ don't trust Morrigan?" she challenged.

Alistair opened his mouth to speak, and then rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I - she - she's not... nice," he finished lamely.

Lyra began to laugh. "She's not _nice?_ Are you serious?"

"She's creepy, Lyra! Her eyes...they look _through_ me. It gives me the shivers," he complained. "I don't know what it is. Believe me, I've thought about it, especially after that story she told us about her mother and the mirror. But... I don't know. I can't explain it. You can't tell me she doesn't make you..."

"What? Make me what?" Lyra demanded.

"Aren't you supposed to kill her mother?" Alistair pointed out, his tone peevish. "What about that, then?"

"Fine. Forget I asked. But think about it, Alistair... she's not a 'bad sort' either." Ruffled, Lyra stood and smoothed the back of her skirt, then marched off to ask Lanaya about their armor.

.oOo.

The sun rode high in the sky as they emerged from the woods, spotting Bodahn's caravan not far off. Leliana's vivid hair was a bright spot against the blue sky, and the bard waved eagerly from where she stood in the back of the merchant's wagon.

Kestrel barked, then bolted from Alistair's side, bearing down on the redhead who jumped from the wagon to welcome him with open arms. She stood no chance against the eager mabari, who tackled her to the ground to the tune of her cheerful laughter.

Lanaya tensed, then relaxed. "I couldn't help thinking of the wolves," she murmured in answer to Alistair's questioning glance.

Morrigan's voice drifted up, startling him enough that he jumped. "You look as if you've eaten a toad, templar," she goaded. He glared, finding her smirking a few feet away in the tall grass. She was well concealed, a book open in her lap. "Oh, dear. Did I frighten you?"

"Lovely morning to you as well, Morrigan. Is that illegal magic I smell?"

The witch rolled her eyes as she turned back to her book, but a hint of a smile teased her lips. _She's glad to see us,_ Alistair thought. Lyra's admonition about his opinion of Morrigan had bothered him all morning, and seeing Morrigan smile only increased his guilt.

Lyra ignored them both, leaving his side to jog the last few feet to Leliana and pull her into a tight hug. The bard grinned in delight, then pulled back to plant her hands on Lyra's shoulders. "You found them," she pronounced.

Lyra nodded. "We did."

"And they've agreed to honor the treaty," Leliana said, her eyes dancing.

Lyra nodded again, a happy smile on her face. "They have."

Leliana squealed and hugged her once more, then pulled away again. "Take off your helmet," she commanded, her brows furrowing.

Lyra hesitated, then drew the helm slowly from her head with downcast eyes.

The bard gasped, one hand flying to her mouth. "Oh Lyra, what happened?"

"It's a long story, Leli," she said quietly. "I'll explain later." Looking back, she gestured for the others to join them. "Bodahn, the Dalish have agreed to trade with you. This is Lanaya, their Keeper, and Varathorn, their trademaster," she said.

Enthusiastic greetings were exchanged, and then the merchant got down to business, leading the elves to his wagons.

"Come, tell me everything that happened," Leliana begged, tugging on Lyra's hand.

"Go on," Alistair said quickly when she looked back at him. "I'll catch up."

Leliana all but dragged Lyra away, and Alistair turned back toward Morrigan, who could barely be seen from where they stood. A bit of darkness set amongst the green and gold, that was all. Steeling himself, he ambled toward her, wondering just what he planned on saying. Even facing down Flemeth couldn't be harder than what he was about to attempt.

All too soon, the graceful shape of Morrigan's boots crept into his line of sight. Edging his eyes upward, he found her staring at him curiously, one eyebrow cocked. "Are you lost, Alistair?" she suggested. "Your lady love is not here. Truly, you must have no sense of direction at all."

"I'm not lost. I wanted to... talk to you." One hand found the back of his neck as he willed himself to continue. "Could I sit?"

She blinked at him, perplexed. "I will not bite, not unless you force me to," Morrigan said after a moment.

Feeling awkward, Alistair plopped down in the grass at her side. She watched him carefully, her sun-colored eyes incredulous.

"Nice view," he said at last, batting a stalk of grass from his face.

"Alistair, what do you want?" she asked, sounding bothered. "If you've come over here merely to bait me-"

"No, I -" Sighing, he dropped his head into his hands, raking fingers through his hair. "You'll laugh. But - look. We started badly. I don't even know why we hate each other as we do."

"I do not hate you, templar," she returned in a calm voice.

Alistair waited for her to follow with something like 'I despise you' or 'One cannot hate a creature who is too stupid to realize it', but she said nothing further.

"Oh," he said after a moment.

More silence as they stared at one another, and then Morrigan shook her head and turned back to her book.

Knowing she was ready to dismiss him urged him to find his tongue. "I just wanted to apologize for all the ugly things I've said," he stammered. "Your magic is... useful. And you're a very good battle mage," he added.

Morrigan lifted her gaze from the pages, her wicked eyes seeming to penetrate the depths of his very being. Alistair squirmed, certain he was about to be turned into something slimy.

"I do not know why you are having this... _talk_ with me," Morrigan said finally in a cautious voice. "But your sincerity is noted. Thank you, Alistair. You are... not as odious as I seem to remember."

He laughed weakly, relieved. "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment."

Morrigan lowered her eyes once more, that same amused quirk tugging at her lips. Amazing how it transformed her into someone so much more pleasant.

"Anyway, don't think I'm in love with you now, or anything," he warned as he climbed back to his feet. "We have an image to keep up."

"I shall be certain to call you names and poison your dinner," the witch returned in an airy voice as she flipped a page.

"I look forward to it," he chuckled, then walked off to join Lyra, his heart much lightened.

.oOo.

"That was good of you," Lyra murmured to Alistair, threading her fingers through his. "That must have been difficult."

"Yes, well. I'm just an amazing guy," he grinned at her.

"You're interrupting," Leliana complained as Alistair pulled Lyra in for a kiss. "Keep talking. What happened next?"

It was lovely to have Alistair relaxed at her side as Lyra narrated their tale, covering the werewolves and the Lady of the Forest, the necessity of her haircut, and the party with the Dalish, ending with Zevran's revelations about his mother and growing up in Antiva.

"How tragic! An orphan..." Leliana sighed, but the sound was not unhappy. "I love to learn about other people."

"Yes, you're quite nosy." Alistair winked at her.

Leliana gave him a sly smile. "You must tell me the story of _your_ life soon, Alistair," she teased. "How else will I write the story of how you and Lyra defeated the Archdemon and saved all of Ferelden? The common people are begging for the tale!"

Alistair laughed, but Lyra noticed the sudden tension that seized his shoulders. "Who's hungry?" she asked brightly. "Come on, Lel, help me make lunch."

.oOo.

Leliana and Zevran returned with the Dalish that evening, escorting Bodahn and the others as they pushed a cart full of goods. Bodahn had gotten what he considered to be an excellent deal on some rare ironbark weaponry, along with fine decorated leather. The merchant was happy, and Lyra could tell he was glad he'd agreed to let the Wardens tag along.

The camp was quiet. Morrigan had disappeared, traipsing off to Maker only knew where. Wynne rested in her tent, and Alistair had gone patrolling, taking Kestrel with him.

The fire had burned down to embers, but there was still light with which to sharpen her daggers. The steady rhythm of it lulled her into a half-trance, and she startled when their qunari companion cleared his throat only a few feet from her.

"Sten," she said, setting her weapons aside and rising to her feet. He was the companion she felt the least close to; he hardly ever spoke, and could not be coerced into conversation. He helped as was required, and took more than his share of guard duty, but other than that he held himself aloof from the others. Never before had he approached any of them.

"The Blight. How will you stop it?" he said without introduction.

Lyra blinked, taken aback by his direct question. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." His tone was not exactly rude, but it brooked no nonsense.

Lyra stumbled over a response. "There's... there's an Archdemon. We have to... kill it." It sounded silly, and her cheeks heated. How incompetent she must seem!

"The Archdemon is hidden and we do not know where it is. How will you find it? If you find it, it will be surrounded by an ocean of Darkspawn. How will you defeat them? If you manage to survive _that_, how will you slay it?"

"Where are these questions coming from?" she asked faintly, confounded by his sudden interest in their mission.

"Why do you have no answers?" he countered, frustration heating his words. "I came from Par Vollen with a group of my brethren to answer a question. At Ostagar, we received our answer. I was to report back to the Arishok, but now I cannot go home, and I find myself in the company of a group of fools who are wasting time running errands instead of meeting the biggest threat in three ages."

Lyra was aghast. "You think we're fools?" she sputtered.

"Another question. You still have given me no answers," he said.

Lyra's eyes narrowed. "You are free to leave, if you do not wish to follow us."

Sten shook his head, stony as ever. "I have heard great tales of the Grey Wardens. So far, I am unimpressed."

"Well, I'm not here to impress _you. _My reasons for doing things are my own. If you do not wish to follow me, then return to... Par... Vallen, or wherever it is you come from. I don't need people who can't follow orders," she snapped.

Remarkably, Sten's posture relaxed, and he nodded. "I will follow you, Warden." Turning on his heel, he marched back to his post.

Lyra was mystified. One moment, he was questioning everything, and the next, he was pledging loyalty?

It was beyond understanding. Shaking her head, Lyra took up her dagger again, running the conversation back through her mind. Perhaps Alistair would have insight that she lacked. She sat once more, staring at her dagger as she thought on all that Sten had said.


	33. The Meaning of Love

**Chapter 31  
>The Meaning of Love<strong>

"He said that?" Leliana asked, wide-eyed.

"Yes! And then he looked at me like I was the biggest idiot in the whole world, and started telling me about how he'd come from... Pear Valley? I don't know. Wherever it is he's from, to answer a question of some kind, and Leliana, I was so exasperated!"

Alistair drew a long breath as the females gabbed, wondering if they would notice him sneaking away to be anywhere else. Lyra was in rare form, full of gossip and speculation, and it was clear that Leliana could not have been happier to listen. Ordinarily, Lyra's conversation was more interesting. But much more of this and Alistair would jam his fingers in his ears and begin caroling nonsense.

They were back on the road, two days from Lothering and the Korcari Wilds... and Flemeth.

Alistair had not spoken with Morrigan again. At all. No insults, no threats, no attempts to one-up each other. It seemed a truce had been called, which scared him more than a little. He felt certain that something was in the works... but what?

Lyra yammered on.

"Did you ever ask Wynne about Aneirin?" Alistair interrupted, desperate to end the tirade about Sten.

"Oh, yes. He was her student, and she thought he was dead. It was apparently a little like seeing a ghost, she said."

"She told me a bit about that," Leliana put in, and the two were off again.

Alistair tuned them out, h's mind wandering back to his last encounter with Morrigan. When Leliana suggested that she and Lyra help Wynne with some potion making in the back of the wagon, he nodded and let them go, relieved to have escaped so easily.

Like a dog with a bone, he gnawed the issue, turning it over to sniff each bit with utter thoroughness. _Morrigan, _he thought. _The sneaky witch-thief who stole the Grey Warden treaties out of the old outpost in the Korcari Wilds. Well, fine, she didn't _steal_ them. Not exactly_.

But just the fact that she'd had them was worrying enough for Alistair. Who knew what Morrigan really intended?

Lyra had said something about how Morrigan needed him. But why him? Why not another Grey Warden? Why was _he_ the one who got saved at Ostagar? _Flemeth could have swooped down and snatched any Grey Warden to heal_. What was it about _him_ that she'd needed? Without a doubt, the old witch was plotting something nefarious.

_Assume the worst_, he thought darkly, then caught himself. Why was he doing this? He had apologized to Morrigan to please Lyra... was he really going to try and figure out Morrigan's secret, evil plan?

He snorted. There was no secret, evil plan. His mind was obviously in overdrive. Morrigan's mother was nothing but a selfish old bat who wanted her daughter out of the house, and had taken advantage of the Blight to foist her off on them.

It could be he wasn't getting enough cheese in his diet. Or perhaps he was too tired. He hadn't been sleeping well - ha, that was a lie, he'd been sleeping fantastically since Denerim, and it wasn't because of all the fresh air.

_Stop worrying, Alistair. Enjoy the view._

_Riiiiiigghht._

He glanced over his shoulder. Morrigan strolled at a distance behind him, her eyes scanning the earth as she gleaned herbs and other plantlife. Perhaps it was time for the silence to end. Making a snap decision, and dropped back to walk beside her.

"So, Morrigan. Kill anyone purely for fun lately?" he began in a breezy voice.

"No, sadly I haven't killed anyone in days. It makes one twitchy." She threw him a sidelong glance. He chuckled, then went silent. Morrigan seemed content to have it so, and they said nothing for several minutes.

Then Alistair thought of something he'd wanted to know since the beginning. "Morrigan... Why did you really come with us?"

"My mother told me to," she replied artlessly.

"Ahhh. And you always listen to her, right? No matter what she says?"

"She usually has good reasons for what she does."

"Then why ask Lyra to kill Flemeth?" he questioned. "She's your mother, right? Usually children don't kill their mothers."

Morrigan's cat eyes gleamed. "I wondered when you might bring that up," she said. "Have a guess, templar. Amuse me."

"Amuse you. Okay, um... you're hungry?"

"You think I wish to _eat_ my mother?" Morrigan laughed, then shrugged. "'Tis more creative than I would have given you credit for. Indeed, if I were a spider your guess would be correct."

"Bleh," he shuddered.

"No, I do not wish to _eat _her... I imagine she would be rather tough, and the meat stringy."

"Ick. Thanks for the visual."

"Twas you who began it, not I," she reminded him, but then her smile faded. "No. My mother is too meddlesome a force. She seeks to use my body as her own, and I refuse to allow it."

"Right. That was my _next_ guess," Alistair said dryly. "So, what, she's going to snatch your body and drain it of life to make herself young and beautiful again?"

"No, she plans on _actually_ possessing my body, and _literally_ using it as her own," Morrigan returned. "Obviously, she and I do not share that plan."

"Wow. Um... That's... wow. That's abominable." Alistair screwed up his face. "I liked the idea of you eating her better."

Morrigan chuckled. "If I had to choose between those two - her possessing me, or me eating her for dinner - do you know, I couldn't choose. Both are equally horrible."

Easy laughter rose between them. "Then I guess we have to kill her," Alistair said.

"For which I thank you. I like the idea of living a full life, and I was most grateful when your lady love agreed to help me. She loves you a good deal, templar."

"Flemeth?"

"Lyra, you nit."

"Oh." A contented smile upped his lips. "Yes... She's the greatest thing that's ever happened to me."

"So 'tis clear to see. Human love and emotion... these are mysteries to me. Perhaps you can explain them. I find myself unable to fathom it."

"Explain love?" How did one do such a thing? Why didn't she just ask him to explain rain, or the Maker, while he was at it? "Huh. Okay, um... You've never been in love then, I take it," he began.

"I have felt joy, or longing...but I gather 'tis not the same thing."

"No, it's not...not exactly." He paused, trying to decide where to begin. "Love. Loooooove. LoOoOoOve."

"What are you doing?" Morrigan said, irritated.

"Thinking. Out loud." Alistair said.

Shooting him a cross look, she commanded, "Start with the touching."

"The _touching?"_

"Yes. I have observed you, and there is so much touching! Holding hands, touching faces, rubbing shoulders. Why is all the touching necessary?"

Alistair chuckled nervously, a touch embarrassed to think of Morrigan watching him with Lyra. "Touching is... intimate. It lets the other person know you care, and when they allow you to touch them it shows that they trust you."

"And what of a handshake? When strangers meet, they do not love each other. Surely, they do not care to be _intimate_."

"But they do want to convey trust, and that's what a handshake does. It's a greeting that conveys trust."

Morrigan mulled this over, frowning. Then, "Why do you hold Lyra's hand? She is grown, she does not need guidance, as might a small child."

"Intimacy again, I suppose. When I hold her hand, it's like I'm saying to her 'I care for you so much that I don't want to let you go'. And when she holds my hand as well, she's agreeing. It's an unspoken gesture that says 'I love you." Alistair was a bit surprised at himself, but pleased with how well he was explaining all of it. _Not as stupid as she thought, am_ _I_.

"Do people take great stock in that?"

"...what?"

"Being told 'I love you'."

Alistair puffed his cheeks. "Well... yes. Love is what most people hope for, and many spend their lives searching for it."

"No wonder people are so miserable," Morrigan observed. "An unattainable dream, pinned on the emotions of someone other than themselves? 'Tis like asking your distant Maker to drop a piece of the sky in your lap."

"Maybe. But trust me, Morrigan; when you get that piece of the sky, your life changes. It's the most wonderful thing, to know that someone else in the world thinks you're worthwhile, that they want to spend their time with _you_, that they would give themselves to you completely. It's better than anything," he said simply.

"And physical love? Is that 'better than anything' as well?" she questioned disdainfully.

Alistair laughed again, his discomfort growing. Morrigan was taking this discussion to places he really hadn't anticipated. "Well... okay, yes, although I... um, don't have a whole lot of... experience. Only with Lyra... but it's... well, it's very intense, and completely intimate, and when we're... um, _there_, in that moment, it's like... the world stops spinning, and it's just her and I, and it's... fulfilling. I feel like I could die, right then and there, and nothing else would matter, because I've just been connected to something bigger than myself, and I don't need anything else." Alistair stopped talking at last, daring a glance at Morrigan's face. But her eyes were focused on the earth, brows furrowed, thoughtful contemplation her only expression. He looked away quickly.

They walked in silence for a few more minutes. Alistair wondered what had possessed him to come and talk to Morrigan. _If she ever makes fun of me for this, I'll kill her,_ he thought. But somehow, he didn't think she would... she looked far too serious.

"I imagine sex without love is not as... all-consuming, as you describe," she said eventually.

Alistair shrugged. "I guess so. Never tried it, myself."

"My mother often entertained men. They were playthings to her, toys to be discarded once she had finished with them. It seemed to make her happy enough," Morrigan said. "She told me sex was mainly for procreation, and I should observe the animals if I wanted to learn about it. So, I did, and most of them stay together for only a season. Many males abandon the females to raise the young on their own, and there are also many mothers who leave their children moments after they are born. Humans are not like this, however."

"No, we're not," Alistair agreed.

"And what of children? Have you and Lyra discussed this? I do not imagine the Grey Wardens would look well on a member of their order who became pregnant during a Blight," Morrigan commented.

Alistair raked fingers back through his hair. Was it possible she could embarrass him even more? "Well - uh... it isn't really a problem. Grey Wardens can't _have_ children."

Morrigan's eyes snapped to his in alarm. "Not at all?"

"Well, not with each other," he told her, wondering at her reaction. "Though the only Wardens I knew who had children had them before they became Wardens. The Taint in our blood - it prevents conception. So she and I don't have much to worry about."

"But you _could_ potentially have a child with someone who was _not _affected by the Taint?" Morrigan asked. This seemed to be a very important question.

"Uh... sure, I suppose it's possible," he said. "But I'm not interested in that. I might have been, but I never expected to be able to have children. Not in the cards for me."

"Even before you were a Warden, you never thought to have a family? Why?" The curiosity had returned.

"Oh. Ha, well... I shouldn't have brought it up. Forget I said anything," Alistair said, feeling uncomfortable. How had this conversation gotten so out of hand?

"No, templar, I wish to know. Tell me," she said, her voice serious and thoughtful.

Alistair sighed. "I don't know, Morrigan. It's supposed to be a secret."

"The reason you don't want children is a secret? Does Lyra know?" Morrigan asked in disbelief.

"Yes, she knows..."

"I can keep a secret, templar. Come, we are enjoying such a nice sharing of feelings. Confide your secret," Morrigan ordered him.

_Who's she going to tell?_ he thought. "Secrecy, Morrigan," he said with trepidation.

The witch waved a negligent hand. "'Tis already forgotten."

"Alright, then. Maker, why am I doing this?" he muttered under his breath. "The truth is, I am King Maric's son. His bastard son. Cailan was the one who would inherit, and I was tucked away into the Chantry, where I was supposed to take full vows of chastity and abstinence to guarantee there would never been anymore unwanted heirs. So, it's not that I don't _want_ children... it's that I never expected to be able to have them, and then becoming a Grey Warden seemed to guarantee that my bloodline would end with me."

Morrigan was quiet, considering this new information. "But Cailan is dead," she concluded at last.

"And?"

"So why keep the secret?"

"Oh." Alistair paused. "I don't want to be King."

"That I can very much understand," she said. "But let us return to the discussion of children. Would you want them, if you _could_ have them?"

"Well... yes, I suppose so," he said. "I never had a family, and having a big one would appeal to me. And you? Do you see yourself settling down in the Wilds somewhere in a mud hut, raising a passel of young with a husband?"

Morrigan snorted. "If I have a child, 'twill be with no husband. I need no man to care for me or my daughter."

"It's a girl, is it? Congratulations," he grinned.

"'Twill be a girl," Morrigan said softly. "That much is clear to me."

Alistair had no idea what to make of _that_.

The ground flowed beneath their feet, the rumbling of wagon wheels a pleasant accompaniment to the clear day. Alistair discovered he was truly enjoying himself. Morrigan was intelligent, a worthy conversationalist, and pleasant enough to be with when she wasn't ridiculing him.

"Morrigan, please don't tell anyone what I said. About who I am," Alistair said finally.

"Templar, you have nothing to fear. I will not share this information. And I thank you for your explanations. Things are clearer now," she replied.

Alistair nodded, then hesitated a moment before turning to walk back to the wagon. Kestrel loped up with a pheasant in his jaws. Alistair took it, then went back to Morrigan.

"Would you like this? For dinner, I mean?" Alistair offered, holding out the bird.

Morrigan's eyebrows rose, but then she took the hen from his hand. "I thank you, templar."

He nodded, and began to walk back again.

Alistair wasn't entirely sure what had just happened between Morrigan and himself, but it seemed they'd become friends. _Strangest day ever,_ he thought.


	34. Cookies and Commitments

**Chapter 33  
>Cookies and Commitments<strong>

"We've made great time," Bodahn said cheerfully. "Even with our stop in the Brecilian forest, I'm ahead of schedule. You Wardens are my good luck charm!"

Alistair grinned as he slipped his hand into Lyra's. Truly, _they_ were the lucky ones. Life had gotten easier since they'd begun traveling with Bodahn. But for a few Darkspawn sightings, there hadn't been a hint of trouble. The job was cake, and the benefits were sweet.

Lothering was much the same as the first time they'd come, though some of the tents had vanished from the open field. It looked as if some of the refugees had found homes, or moved on.

It was good to see the tiny hamlet again... they were so close to Ostagar, he'd been worried for them. Closing his eyes, he reached out with his Warden sense, awaiting the touch of nausea that always roiled his stomach when he felt the creatures. The bulk of the horde wasn't all that far off... Alistair frowned, promising himself he'd keep a mental eye on things.

"Bodahn! Bodahn and Sandal! The merchant's come!"

Word traveled quickly, the town turning out to greet them in fine style. Glad smiles lit every face, anticipation of the merchant's visit riding high. Children shouted and capered, adults waved and called greetings as they walked alongside Bodahn's wagons. The dwarf was all smiles, already relaying news and gossip he'd gathered along the way. Clearly, his stories were as coveted as his supplies.

The wagons rumbled to a halt, and Bodahn and Sandal clambered down, eager to set up and begin trading.

"I should have asked the Dalish if I could buy one of their lutes," Leliana said sadly. "I miss my lute."

"Maybe they'll have one here in Lothering?" Lyra suggested.

"Anything's possible, although Lothering is a bit... small. Chances of a luthier living here aren't that great," Alistair observed.

"There wasn't anyone who made lutes when I lived here before," Leliana agreed.

"One of us should stay and keep an eye on things," Alistair said. "Do you want to do anything here in town, Leliana? Visit the Chantry, or any shopping? You too, Lyra, go enjoy yourself a little."

"Shopping? We _brought_ the shopping, Alistair!" Leliana laughed. "But I will visit the Chantry, and who knows - maybe someone left a lute in the inn. I won't give up just yet."

"We'll be back later," Lyra told him, brushing his lips with a kiss before she and Leliana wandered off to take in the few sights Lothering had to offer.

Alistair tried to decide if sitting was an acceptable thing for a caravan guard to do, and then regretfully took up a post by the wagon, resigning himself to a few hours on his feet. Sten joined him moments later, saying nothing.

"You get that side, I'll man this one?" Alistair suggested. Sten nodded, stoic as always.

Time passed while they watched the townspeople gush over Bodahn's wares, complain about the prices, attempt to haggle him down, or try to slip something into their pockets unseen. The first time it happened, Alistair took a step toward the would-be thief, and the item was immediately replaced upon the table.

Sten was excellent at his job; he _growled_ at the next sticky-fingered passerby. The poor lad jumped back, his eyes like saucers, before he took off running. Amused, Alistair reminded himself to tell Lyra about it, later.

"So, Sten," Alistair said during a lull. "Where are you from?"

Sten flicked a glance at him, then turned his gaze back on the milling crowd.

Alistair raised his eyebrows. "Tough room. Okay, um... Lyra said it was called something like...Pear Valley?"

"Par Vollen," Sten said warily.

"Ah. Yes. That sounds a little more... right," Alistair said.

Sten stared into the distance.

"What brought you to Ferelden?" Alistair tried again.

"A question," Sten said.

_Maker, it's like pulling hens' teeth..._ "What was the question?"

"What is the Blight." From the steady monotone, Sten was as disconnected from the conversation as it was possible to be.

"That was your question?" Alistair asked, amazed.

"Not my question. The Arishok's question."

"Okay. What's an Arishok?"

Sten sighed. "The Arishok is our leader."

"So... the Arishok wanted to know what the Blight was, and he sent you to find out."

"Yes." The word was clipped, as though this should be plenty of information, and Alistair should now do him the courtesy of please shutting up.

Alistair intended to do no such thing. "So now that you know, shouldn't you go back to Par Vollen and tell him?"

Sten was quiet for a moment, but a telltale muscle worked in the corner of the qunari's jaw. "I cannot go home," he said, finally.

"Now we're getting somewhere! Why not?"

"You have many questions, Warden," Sten gritted.

"I wouldn't have so many if you volunteered a little more information," Alistair retorted.

The giant ignored him.

"Fine. Forget I asked." Fed up, Alistair turned his attention back to guard duty.

A young woman sashayed past Alistair, gifting him with a flirtatious smile. But pretty as she was, the Warden was more interested in the basket of fresh vegetables slung over her arm. How long had it been since he'd had snap beans?

The girl set her basket on Bodahn's table and began arranging a trade; her produce for various sundries. Alistair's mouth watered as he watched and listened. Wild salads were fine, but cultivated vegetables, from an actual garden... His stomach rumbled just thinking about it. There were even strawberries in her basket. If Bodahn traded for them, Alistair would buy some for Lyra.

"Do you like cheese, Sten?" Alistair said, thinking of a dish of baked greens with cheese that he'd had at an inn with Duncan once.

"Cheese..." Sten said slowly. "Yes, I suppose."

"Ever had it on snap beans?"

The girl must have heard him, for she offered him another smile. She was a cute thing... dark waving hair, heart shaped face. Alistair brought Lyra back to mind and stopped smiling back, feeling guilty.

"No, I have not," Sten said.

"Well, it's the best."

"So are you," Lyra's smiling voice said. Alistair grinned in delight, slipping an arm around her waist to pull her in for a kiss.

"Hey, I missed you," he said happily.

"I missed you too. How's guard duty?"

"Sten's been talking my ear off. He won't quiet down."

The qunari spared him not even a glance.

"Amazing," Alistair muttered, then "What have you been up to?"

"I didn't bring you cheese, but look at this." Reaching into her pouch, she brought out Alistair's handkerchief, unwrapping it to reveal...

"Cookies!" Alistair exclaimed. Cinnamon and sugar wafted, his mouth watering as he plucked one from her open hand. "Lyra... it's still _warm_..." he groaned, and nibbled a tiny bite.

Leliana snagged a cookie as welll, and then Lyra offered the handkerchief to Sten, who looked doubtfully into her hands.

"Cookies?" he asked.

Lyra nodded. "Have you never had them?"

Sten shook his head.

Alistair took another small bite, trying to make the unexpected treat last as long as possible. "He hasn't had cheese on snap beans, either. It's a tragedy of great proportions."

"Go on," Lyra encouraged. "It's just a cookie, and it's delicious. You'll love it."

At last, the giant took one from her hand, holding it up for inspection before risking a bite. His lavender eyes drifted closed as he chewed. "It is... sweet... and crumbly..." he mumbled.

"Yep, that's a cookie," Alistair said. "Do you think the baker would make more if we paid her?" He popped the last bite into his mouth and brushed off his hands.

"Maybe. I could ask. I suppose we'll be here for a few days while Bodahn sells his things, so she might have time to make a few batches."

"Can I have a few more of those? Since I'm standing duty here?" Alistair asked.

Lyra handed him a few more, and then she and Leliana sauntered off again.

Sten's eyes tracked the treat as Alistair lifted it to his mouth. "Warden. May I have another?"

"Another what? Oh," Alistair said with a grin. "These? These delightful, fantastic treats? Sten, do you _like _cookies?"

"I have never tasted anything like it before. It is... quite good," Sten said, as passionate as a stone.

Alistair handed him a cookie, and the qunari actually seemed to melt a bit as he ate it.

"I cannot go home because I have lost my sword," Sten said when he'd finished.

"Is cookies all it took for you to open up?" Alistair teased.

"Give me another and I will tell you more."

"I dunno, I only have two more... Oh, I suppose. Just because I like you, though." He handed one to Sten, who took another slow, savoring bite.

.oOo.

Leliana hooked her arm through Lyra's as they strolled. "She doesn't know about Alistair's parentage, does she?"

"I don't think so. So it can't have to do with that."

"What could Morrigan want with Alistair..." Leliana mused, then shrugged. "I can't think of a thing. But Alistair's parents! How romantic... It's the most amazing story. To think, he could actually become the king, and from such humble beginnings!"

"Leli, you _can't_ tell anyone. Promise me," Lyra said, wondering if it was wise to have shared Alistair's secret with her sociable friend.

"Oh, don't worry about it. I can keep a secret. My life depended on it sometimes, remember? No one will have it out of me. But if he _does_ become the king, I plan on having a fantastic song ready. And Lyra... if he becomes the king, you could be queen! Queen of all Ferelden!"

Lyra paused. "I... never thought of that."

"You must have. _I_ would have thought of it."

"No, I didn't. I just... never made the connection." Her face fell, an awful, awful thought occurring to her. "It wouldn't make sense for him to marry me. The kingdom would demand an heir... and that's something I can't do. Not now."

"Oh no... I forgot about that." Leliana bit her lip. "But you said he doesn't want to be king, right? So you have nothing to worry about."

"Maybe..." Lyra said, but a pall had been cast on the lazy, lovely day. She slipped her arm out of Leliana's, and sat down beside a huge tree just outside of the main town.

Sighing, Leliana dropped down at her side, her brow furrowed. Lyra's fingers combed through the grass, the mindless action aiding her in thinking. "He'd be better off marrying Anora..." she murmured.

"Now that's crazy talk."

"No, it's not. She's already the queen. The people would accept it."

"But how long were she and Cailan married? Five years, wasn't it? If she could have, wouldn't she have already provided the country with an heir by now? She's probably barren," Leliana pointed out.

A cynical laugh tumbled from Lyra's lips. "So he shouldn't marry either one of us. Well, I'm sure there are simply _thousands_ of beautiful girls who would happily jump into his bed and produce a baby every year or so." Lyra pulled a blade of grass from the ground and tossed it aside listlessly.

"Alistair is crazy for you, Lyra. He wouldn't take someone else just because they could have _children_." But Leliana's voice was too cheerful, and it didn't fool Lyra for one minute.

"Leli, I was brought up noble. We have duties; carry on the bloodline being one of the first. A woman who can't breed isn't a good match. She's cast aside, and another, fresher, younger woman is brought in to replace her. It's just the truth. And I was a damned fool not to think of it." Tipping her head back against the tree, she stared up into the branches, willing her tears to reabsorb instead of spill down her cheeks.

"But he might not become the king at all."

"But he might."

Leliana leaned her head on Lyra's shoulder. Sighing, Lyra relaxed against her friend, comforted by Leliana's hand twining with hers. It was so, so _nice_ to have a girlfriend to talk to. In the short time they'd known each other, they'd become close as sisters. Sniffling a little, she pulled the handkerchief from her pouch and shook crumbs from it.

"Lyra, the first moment I saw the two of you, I knew you belonged together. Trust me... Alistair won't cast you aside. No matter what happens."

"I hope you're right, Leliana. I love that stupid man," she whispered, then gave in and allowed the tears to fall.

.oOo.

"You can't be serious. They would _kill_ you, just because you didn't have your sword?" Alistair said disbelievingly.

"A warrior who casts away his sword is soulless."

"But you didn't cast your sword aside - someone stole it from you while you were knocked out."

"It matters not."

"Well... what if we found your sword?"

Sten looked sharply at Alistair. "Why are you so interested in helping me?"

"Why are you traveling with _us_?" Alistair countered.

Sten faced forward again, but Alistair persisted. "Where did the fight happen? Where you lost your sword?"

"By Lake Calenhad," Sten said wearily.

"We'll look for it. No harm in looking, right?" Alistair said cheerily. Sten did not answer.

The rest of the afternoon passed with little further conversation, although Sten did agree to try the snap-beans with cheese for dinner. Alistair was in fine spirits when Bodahn closed up the wagons and they headed for camp in the field outside of town.

His merry mood evaporated when he saw Lyra, however.

She was waiting for him, jumping up from her seat by the fire and running to meet him. Already she'd changed out of her armor, but even this didn't slow her as she launched herself into his embrace. He stumbled back a step, knocked back by her eagerness.

"Hey," he laughed. "I'm glad to see you too. Did you have a nice day?"

She nodded, still clinging. Alistair squeezed her back, but she didn't let go.

"What is it?" he asked, concerned.

She shook her head, drawing away at last. "I just... love you," she said in a watery voice.

Alistair frowned, then cupped her face and peered at her. Reddened eyes, puffy lids, her nose swollen - she'd been crying. No doubt about it. "I love you too," he told her. "You know that, right?"

She nodded, but her teeth raked her lip, and the worried pinch did not smooth from her brow.

"Then what's wrong?"

She shook her head, then sniffled. "It's nothing."

"It's not nothing," he protested. "You're upset. What can I do? Do you need to talk?"

"No." Resolute, she tugged him toward the fire. "Come on. You should change. You must be tired."

"I don't believe you, you know."

Sniffling again, Lyra laughed a bit, then stuck her tongue out at him. "Silly man."

"Silly nothing. I'll have it out of you. Just wait."

Morrigan had concocted a dish of vegetables and cream topped with cheddar, then toasted it with a touch of flame from her fingertips. Alistair all but clapped, then tried his best not to make obscene noises as he ate. There was roast chicken, too, and new potatoes. Lyra smiled quietly at him, but picked at her food, claiming she wasn't hungry. "Rubbish," he whispered between bites. "And you say you're not upset?"

Making a face at him, she shoveled a few bites into her mouth. "Happy?"

"Not til you tell me about your day."

Lyra toyed with her food. "There's some things on the Chanter's board I want to take care of tomorrow. A boy's mother is missing, and a bear is threatening the town."

Alistair nodded, stabbing a forkful of melty goodness. "Sounds like a plan. Oh, hey, listen to this." In low tones, he told her about his conversation with Sten and the sword.

"Interesting..." she murmured. "Definitely, let's do our best for him."

After dinner, Alistair cajoled Lyra away from camp. "Walk with me," he invited.

"Let's just go to bed," she said. "I'm tired."

"We won't go far. Please?"

The guarded look she'd worn before Denerim returned. "Okay," she agreed at last.

Joining their hands, Alistair tugged her away from camp, with Kestrel in tow. They made their way to the edge of the Wilds, leaving the sounds of Lothering behind. It was dark, without much moon, but it wasn't difficult to see.

"You know I'd do anything for you," Alistair said.

Lyra tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "And I'd do anything for you."

"So, tell me what's wrong."

"Alistair-"

"_Something _is wrong," he insisted. "You try so hard, but I know you. You were crying today. You've gone all... untouchable. Like you're afraid. And I want you to know that you don't have to be."

Her shoulders lifted as she curved in on herself, face crumpling. Heart twisting, Alistair scooped her into an embrace, holding her close even as she struggled to regain control.

"I'm sorry-"

"Don't be sorry. Just _talk to me._"

Breathing ragged, she gave up trying to get away and snuggled close. Alistair smoothed her hair from her face as she settled into him with a tear-streaked sigh.

"It's so silly. That's why I keep saying I'm sorry. I shouldn't be this wound up over it."

Alistair waited, gliding his fingers over her temple as she gathered her thoughts. "Go on," he prompted her.

"I was talking with Leliana today, and it occurred to me that if you become the king... I..."

"Yes?"

"I... Maker, this sounds so presumptuous. I mean, we haven't talked about any of this..."

"Which is why we're talking now," he reminded her. "You're not presumptuous. Tell me."

"Sweet Andraste, this is difficult," she muttered, then all at once, "If you become king, and we were married, I wouldn't be able to give you an heir." The words tripped over one another, rushed from a throat unwilling to release them.

Alistair's mind whirled. "Oh," he managed at last.

A sob from Lyra, followed by a much heftier sniffle. "Damn it," she muttered, her voice nasal as she shoved away from him and fumbled his handkerchief from her pocket.

Too much silence from him, and she would no doubt take it the wrong way. Besides, it had taken no time at all to assess. Given the chance, would he marry her? Build a family with her? Grow old with her?

Without a doubt.

Lyra finished clearing her sinuses, and Alistair stepped forward to gather her in his arms once more. "Is that all, you silly girl?" he asked gently.

"Is that all? Isn't it enough?" she cried. The handkerchief rose again as she sobbed, curling into him. "I... want... _children_, Alistair," she hiccupped. "I.. never knew... how much, until I... couldn't have them..."

"Shhhhh..." he murmured, his hands tracing over her back. "It's not impossible. We'll find a way."

"But Grey Wardens can't-"

"Not with each other, no," he murmured. "But there are children born every day to parents who can't keep them or don't want them. There will be a child for us."

"But not one of our own," Lyra said mournfully.

In the trees above them, a raven took flight with a scattering of wings. Alistair glanced at the bird, then cuddled Lyra closer, dropping a kiss on her temple.

"I feel ridiculous talking about this. I'm so sorry."

"Don't. Lyra, I don't want to be king," he said firmly. "Since we've met, I've realized that if it happens, it won't be the end of the world. I think if I had to, I could do it. But my darling, wonderful woman, do you really think that I would allow them to put a crown on my head without you by my side to make sure I didn't do something completely idiotic?"

She giggled, the sound bordering on hysteria. "You _are_ a little bit hopeless."

"Only a little?" Tilting her face upward, he grazed her mouth with his. "No matter what happens, Lyra, I want you with me forever."

A raw whimper lifted as he pressed his lips to hers. Pliant fingers carded through his hair, her body melding with his as she stepped closer. Such intimacy in this vulnerable moment... it staggered him, how very close she felt. How wrapped up they were in each other. The universe had gotten an awful lot smaller in the last few minutes, leaving room for only two.

But being exposed like this wasn't wise, and after a few minutes, they headed back to camp, seeking the privacy of their tent as quickly as manners would allow.

Undressing her was pleasure itself. The darkness blinded his eyes, but not his hands... fingertips glided over skin as he lifted her tunic away, the curve of her breast a magical thing to discover, then the shallow valleys between her ribs, the uneven scar from her brush with a poisoned arrow.

Easing her back onto the bedroll, Alistair tilted her head back to gain full access to her throat. A line of kisses began at the hollow of her neck, his lips brushing the pendant nestled there. Hands ventured lower, slipping beneath her waistband and easing the fabric low. Lyra assisted him here, kicking out of her pants as she wound her arms around his neck.

Heat, tenderness, the dance of tongues and mouths as he slanted over her. Lyra sighed, the sound filled with longing. "I need you," she whispered. "Please."

"Not yet," he murmured in return. Lowering to her breast, he suckled one nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling the turgid fullness. One hand traced her curves, sliding over her flesh and enveloping the other breast in a gentle kneading motion. Lyra's breathing quickened, her fingers combing over his scalp.

Her body was a delicacy. No part of it should go untouched, unkissed. Moving lower, Alistair nuzzled her, his lips grazing the hollow of her belly button. So sweet and tempting. A desire filled him, one he'd hardly dared acknowledge before. It had seemed so wicked and wanton in his dreams, yet after what they'd shared, it no longer felt like too much.

Lifting to his knees, he nudged her legs apart, settling himself between them and dropping a slow kiss on the silken hair below her navel. Before now, he'd followed his instinct, learned lovemaking _with_ her. Now, he intended to _know_ her.

Lyra gasped as his fingers slipped between her folds. "What are you doing?" she murmured, the words drunken.

"Loving you," he whispered, his fingers gliding over her. Closing his eyes, he dipped inward, his tongue sliding over her center.

Lyra moaned.

"Shhh..." he smiled, kissing her skin.

"Easy for you to say," she whispered.

"Should I stop?"

"Andraste, no."

Sweeter words he'd never heard.

The bedroll shifted as she gripped it, her feet sliding upward as she opened to him. He delved deeper, his tongue following her contours, learning every swell and sway. Such warmth, such slick smoothness. Lyra bit back another groan.

Knowing he was pleasing her was a greater turn-on than anything she might have done to him. A heady shiver raced over his skin as he stroked and teased, absorbing her reactions and making mental notes. This area, _here_, and her whole body tensed. A light flick of his tongue, and she quivered. Again... and she writhed.

It was too much to bear; the swelling in his groin begged relief. Desire mingled with regret... he'd have liked nothing better than bring her to climax with nothing but his tongue.

But as he climbed over her, to his pleasure, she reached for him, urging him close. "Maker, Alistair," she whispered, her legs circling him.

It was simple to fit himself within her and sink to the hilt. Lyra's head tipped back, another moan lifting as she strained to meet him. Something akin to a sob escaped her throat when they were joined completely, her breath quick as she reached for him, her lips melding with his. She clung, dragging them ever closer as he kissed her deeply.

This was more than mere lovemaking. This was an affirmation, a dedication.

Simple rhythm built between them, their bodies becoming one with every thrust. Alistair's arms surrounded her, holding her close as he loved her, telling her with his body just how much a part of him she was. Lyra responded in kind, taking him in, clasping him close as he sheathed himself in her.

Foreheads touching, Alistair breathed her name as his finish overtook him. She arced back, rising to meet him as he shuddered and moaned. Her own pleasure came seconds later, his last strokes bringing her to orgasm as she rejoiced in his completion. Aftershocks shook them both, neither letting go, neither ready to leave the moment behind.

.oOo.

Outside, Morrigan sat by the fire, her black book in her lap as she stared, unseeing, at the words. Over and over, she thought of the conversation she'd witnessed while wearing the guise of a raven.


	35. Illusions in the Mist

**Chapter 33  
>Illusions in the Mist<strong>

The following day, Alistair and Sten traded guard duty with Leliana and Wynne, heading off to track the feral bear to its den. Meanwhile, Lyra and Zevren took Kestrel to search for the boy's lost mother. She'd been gone long enough that the Chantry assumed her dead, and Lyra didn't hold out much hope.

Zevran's tracking skills proved out. A few miles outside of town, they found evidence of a wolf attack, and then the mangled remains of a corpse left exposed to the elements. Lyra's stomach heaved at the cruel sight, her heart aching for the woman's child. Maker, it wasn't _fair!_

Zevran retrieved a locket from the victim's neck, and they built a pyre. Dry as the body was, it caught quickly, and Lyra prayed in a low voice for the woman and her son. Zevran stood quietly by, saying nothing, but when she'd finished speaking, he took her hand and squeezed it. Lyra wiped away tears as Alistair's words came back to her... _There are children born every day to parents who can't keep them or don't want them. There will be a child for us._

Perhaps they could be the light in the darkness for one such child, if not this one.

Zevran handed her the locket as they began the hike back, and she wrapped it in Alistair's handkerchief and tucked it into her pouch. "Now, my flower, I do not wish to be indelicate, but after handling a body that has been so long exposed, we should both bathe well," he suggested.

They returned to town by mid-afternoon and made use of the inn's bathing facilities, and then Lyra took the locket to Chanter Devons. He tried to reward her, but she shook her head. Taking payment for such a thing felt wrong. Her purse was still full of coins from Bann Teagan, and Bodahn supplied them with three square meals a day. Money was the least of her concerns.

As the two of them returned to Bodahn's wagon, Lyra spotted Alistair speaking with one of the villagers, a pretty, dark-haired girl. She wore a simple dress and sturdy boots, but her face was sweet. As Lyra watched, the girl laughed brightly at something Alistair said.

Jealousy flared. Lyra stalked up, slipping her hand into the crook of Alistair's arm. He jumped, his head whipping toward her.

"Hello, Alistair. Who's this?" Lyra said pleasantly.

"Lyra...um, sweetheart, hello. This is Bethany Hawke. Bethany, this is Lyra Cousland. Bethany was just bringing more vegetables to Bodahn. Any luck with the boy's mother?" Alistair asked, sounding uneasy.

"Hello, Bethany. Lovely to meet you. So sorry to interrupt. It looked as if you two were getting along swimmingly." It was difficult not to glare at the girl.

"It's nice to meet you, Lyra," Bethany gushed. "Alistair told me about you. It isn't every woman who gets to join the Grey Wardens. I'm sure if _my_ sister had the chance, she would jump at it!" The girl's pale blue eyes sparkled. She seemed oblivious to the potential awkwardness of their situation... perhaps she meant no harm. Lyra relaxed.

"Is your sister a swordswoman?" she asked, interested in spite of herself.

"Yes. Eve and my brother Carver were with King Cailan's army at Ostagar. We were so grateful when they came home," Bethany said. "We thought for sure they were dead. It was terrible what Loghain did to the Grey Wardens! No one quite knew _what_ happened, but then a traveler came through Lothering with a story about how the king's ghost appeared and told everyone the truth! I hope Loghain gets what he deserves," she exclaimed.

"Bethany! Bethany, mother's looking for you." A tall, muscular woman with short blonde hair, obviously cut to fit a helmet, came jogging up. She slowed when she saw the Wardens. "Bethy, what are you doing? You're not pestering these folks, are you?"

"Eve, these are Alistair and Lyra. They're Grey Wardens!" The girl was so very innocent. She couldn't have been more than sixteen. The last vestige of Lyra's pique melted away.

Eve gave them a brief, disinterested smile as she took Bethany's hand. "How do you do - I'm sorry if my little sister has been bothering you. She tends to be a bit nosy. Come on, Beth."

Bethany smiled as she reached for Lyra's hand, giving it a squeeze before her sister dragged her off.

"They seem nice," Lyra said, giving Alistair a sidelong glance. Faultless Bethany might be, but she couldn't resist the chance to give him a little flack.

"It wasn't what you think," he jabbered, his eyes pinched. "She just showed up and started talking to me - I couldn't be rude! But we mostly talked about you, how wonderful you are with your weapons, and how lucky the Grey Wardens are to have you. That was all."

Lyra kissed his cheek. "As good looking as you are, I guess I can't expect women to stay away from you. I'm just lucky I got to you first. She looked like a hunter on the prowl to me."

"Don't worry. I'm taken." Alistair grinned as he pulled her into his arms. "Besides, women are scary creatures."

"You think _Bethany_ is scary?" Lyra giggled. "If you'd been flirting, I'd have shown you scary."

"This is why I love you, warrior woman." Alistair laughed as they rubbed noses. "Always ready to fight for my affections."

.oOo.

The next morning at sunrise, preparations were made for the trip into the Wilds. Mostly, Lyra had tried not to think about it, but now the time had come... Flemeth awaited.

A hurried breakfast was gobbled around a smoky fire, but not much was said. Morrigan watched them eat, her arms crossed over her knees as her topaz eyes tracked every movement.

"I am not sure this is a good idea, Lyra," Wynne's graceful voice broke the silence. "I will help you if you wish, but sneaking through the woods in cold blood to kill an old woman does not sit easily with me."

"I can't take Morrigan, and I would feel better if we had some magic on our side," Lyra said. "Wynne, I don't like it, either. But I can't let Morrigan die."

A flicker of warmth shone in the witch's eyes, though still she said nothing.

Wynne nodded, her mouth a thin, even line. "As I said, I will accompany you, but I cannot attack Flemeth in cold blood."

"You _do_ know that she has been stealing children for hundreds of years and murdering _them_ in cold blood, do you not?" Morrigan said languidly. "I thought you a more feeling person than that, Wynne. 'Tis easy to sit in a tower and pass judgement on those you do not understand."

Wynne narrowed her eyes at the seductive witch. "You are not blameless in this, Morrigan. Do not think to shame me with your own version of the truth."

Dark laughter bubbled from the witch's throat, her unnatural eyes gleaming.

"Creeeepy," Alistair sang in a high voice. But rather than the hateful glare Lyra had expected, Morrigan only chuckled again, throwing him an appreciative smirk. Alistair tossed her a stoic wink in return, then dove back into his oats, his spoon dripping with butter and honey as he shoveled the porridge down.

_What just happened?_ Lyra wondered. She knew the two of them had mended fences, but...

Giving herself a quick shake, she scraped up her last bite, then set the bowl aside. "Here's the plan. Sten, Wynne, Alistair and I will go into the Wilds. It's only a few hours walk to Flemeth's hut, so we should be back by sunset at the latest. Questions? Suggestions? Reassurances?" Lyra said with an edgy smile.

"Be on your guard," Morrigan told them. "She is not powerful, but she is cunning. Do not falter, kill her quickly and all will be well."

Lyra nodded, her stomach churning.

"Be careful," Leliana said softly, coming forward to wrap her arms around Lyra.

"We'll be fine," Lyra whispered, but brushed her lips over Leliana's cheek anyway.

Zevran came for her next, giving her a brief embrace. "Do not let Wynne die," he cautioned her. "The loss of such beauty would beggar my world."

Giggling, Lyra nodded as Wynne clucked her tongue at the charming assassin.

"Take this," Morrigan said. In her fingers was a small ring, carved of rosewood. "Mother gave it to me. She used it to sense my whereabouts."

"And... um, we want it why?" Lyra's stomach flipped. "Won't it bring Flemeth right to us?"

"I have changed it," Morrigan reassured her. "Tis linked now to whoever holds it, and tied into my own magic. Mother's link has been severed."

"...Ah." Lyra slipped it onto her finger. A flash of heat seared her hand, and she winced, hissing as she began to tug it off.

"Do not remove it," Morrigan cautioned her, her hand closing over Lyra's. "I should have warned you. But you are attuned now, there will be no further pain. Whatever you do, whatever you _see_... do not remove this ring. As long as you wear it, I will be able to find you."

The pain had gone, leaving nothing but pleasant warmth. Lyra eyed the ring for an apprehensive moment, watching the wood grain swirl and change. Flowers and animals chased over its polished surface. "I'll keep it on." She put her arms around the witch, hugging her close. "Thank you."

Morrigan stiffened, but then her arms rose, squeezing Lyra in return. She stepped back quickly as soon as she was released, a tense expression on her normally placid face.

Lyra knelt to ruffle Kestrel's neck. "Stay here, boy. Guard Bodahn with the others."

He whined at her, cocking his head, then lowered his chest to the ground and wagged furiously, giving a bark of entreaty.

She frowned, opening her mouth to scold him into obedience.

"Take him, Lyra. He won't be happy unless he's with you. We're fine," Leliana assured her.

"All right, mutt. Come with us then," Lyra grinned, and hugged him tightly. He _yarorwaror_'d, coating her with slobber, and she giggled and wiped her cheeks as she stood. The touch of levity faded as she realized the moment had come. "See you all soon," she mumbled, pasting a halfhearted smile on her face.

Gesturing, she led the small group toward the forest. Kestrel took point, his nose buried in the undergrowth as he scented the trail. Just how he thought to sniff out the Witch of the Wilds, Lyra didn't know, but the way did seem familiar. Perhaps he was retracing the path Morrigan had used. "I hope you know where you're going, dog," she murmured.

"Follow him?" Alistair questioned. Lyra nodded.

The bracken crunched as they walked, but otherwise, it was a soundless mile that flowed beneath their boots. There was no talk... the very wildlife seemed hushed, as if in awe of their intent. Just what they planned on doing, Lyra still hadn't figured out. _Supposing the legends are true,_ she thought. _They say Flemeth can kill a man with nothing but his own fear._

A sharp _crack_ from the underbrush made her jump. Alistair's boot had snapped a twig.

_Damn it,_ Lyra griped to herself. _We're being idiots._

"Hold up," she called. "Let's talk for a moment." The others gathered, and Kestrel perched at her side, tongue lolling. "We need to figure out a strategy."

An approving nod from Sten. "Tell us of this Flemeth. What is her weakness?"

"Well..." Lyra hesitated, glancing at the others. "I've been thinking about the legends. We don't know much about her, but all the stories claim she can kill with fear alone. So, I don't think it's the physical we need to worry about."

"You think she'll try and get into our heads," Alistair said. "So... how do we stop her? Wynne, any suggestions?"

"Mind magic is difficult to predict," the mage said slowly. "The Litany of Adralla is the only thing we have to combat such a thing. Of course, one can be caught unawares. Remember Niall in the tower. There will be no 'finding each other' as there was then." The mage hesitated, then forged on, her words soft. "Isn't it possible we can talk to Flemeth? Surely, Morrigan's claims are exaggerated. I cannot believe any woman would kill her own child."

"What reason could Morrigan have for lying?" Lyra asked. "I know it's a hard pill to swallow, but I believe her."

"Morrigan is an apostate," Wynne said doggedly. "As is Flemeth. Mages outside of the circle do not operate under our own laws. You say Morrigan wants her mother's grimoire, and that she intends to use it to become as powerful as her mother. Could _this _be the reason she has sent you on this errand - and not because Flemeth intends to 'steal her body'?"

Lyra paused, her heart sinking. "I - suppose..."

"I don't think Morrigan would do that," Alistair argued. "Look at how much she's helped us. She's really worried about this. If all she wanted was to kill Flemeth and take her grimoire, why not come with us to make sure the job was done?"

"Or perhaps she sent the four of _us_, so that her own skin wasn't at risk," Wynne suggested.

Alistair frowned. "She seemed so honest when we talked-"

"And perhaps she is." Wynne's voice was gentle. "I am not trying to stir the pot. But you must admit, this is a perilous errand. I would prefer not to see anyone take unnecessary risks."

Kestrel whined, then lay on the ground and pawed his nose. Lyra offered an unhappy glance to Alistair. He met her gaze, and from his expression, they were both feeling shammed.

"Wardens. If I may." Sten spoke up, his words gruff as always.

"Please," Lyra invited.

"Let us go to Flemeth and ask her if she intends to kill Morrigan. Much can be learned from a reaction."

"Honesty? Really?" Alistair stared at the giant warrior. "You think she'd just _answer _us?"

"Wynne's hesitation is over whether or not we are making a mistake. Once we know, we can proceed with confidence."

It sounded so simple, coming from the straightforward qunari.

"Okay," Lyra decided. "Let's just ask."

Alistair gave a low whistle, then adopted a casual pose, his voice rising to a feminine timbre. "Hi, Flemeth! Quick question. Are you out to steal your daughter's body? Because if you are, then shame on you!" These last three words he punctuated with attitude-filled finger waggles.

"Right. Very nice. Now, let's figure out our approach," Lyra said grimly. "Seeing as there's just two of us Wardens, maybe we should split up."

"Oh sure, _now_ you realize there's only two of us," Alistair sighed. "Maker, I hate this. Say on. There's a plan in that head of yours, I know it."

.oOo.

It seemed the hazy light never changed in these woods. The sky hovered between twilight and sunrise, never fully committing to a time of day. It had looked eerily similar when she'd woken after the debacle in the Tower of Ishal and found Alistair sitting by the silver'd lake. Lyra crept through the trees, swallowing to moisten a throat gone dry with anxiety.

Kestrel prowled at her side, lean muscles flowing with energy and strength. She tweaked one of his ears, glad the dog was with her, at least. Alistair and Wynne waited a few hundred yards back, concealed in the heavy brush, the Litany of Adralla at the ready. Sten had secreted himself behind the witch's hut, ready to charge in with his sword held high.

Flemeth's abode was unchanged, a moldering pile of reeds that might have grown up out of the swamp itself. Thin smoke trails wisped from the chimney. The witch was at home.

Steeling herself, Lyra marched to the door and rapped upon it, then backed up and pulled her sword.

An eternity passed while Lyra waited, nerves jangling. At last, the door creaked open.

Unlike her daughter, Flemeth _looked_ as if she lived in a mud hut in the middle of the wilds. Her feet were bare, her toenails blackened with dirt. Golden eyes narrowed as she stared Lyra down, a network of lines bleeding down her face. Age spots dappled her hands, her fingers thin and brittle as old branches. Dark silver was her hair, and wanting badly for a comb, not to mention a healthy helping of soap. Even on the road as they were, none of Lyra's companions were so unkempt.

Flemeth cleaned her hands upon an apron streaked green and brown, a low chuckle sounding. "Can I help you, Warden?"

"Yes," Lyra said, ignoring the rising cadence of her heartbeat. "I come with a question."

"By all means, ask it. Neither of us has all day." The woman leaned upon the doorframe, crossing her arms as amusement flickered in her ethereal eyes.

"I know of your grimoire," Lyra stated. "I know what you intend to do to Morrigan."

Flemeth's gaze slid downward, her mouth puckering into a private smirk. "That is not a question."

"Does it need to be?" Lyra countered. "Do you deny it?"

"Morrigan is many things," Flemeth said in a high, wistful voice. "She dreams of besting me. Always has." Stuttering laughter, then a sigh as she tilted her head. "And now, she has glamoured you, as well. What did she send you after? My books, I suppose?"

Lyra gave a slow nod, distrustful. "She only mentioned one. But I assume she would want them all."

"You are brave, to come alone." Flemeth's wrinkled lips stretched, revealing yellowed teeth. "I knew I was right to save you. Come inside. I will give you the books, and you will give them to Morrigan."

This was so reasonable. Lyra's feet moved of their own volition, carrying her one step forward before she caught herself. "Wait - you would _give_ me the books?"

"Why not?" Flemeth shrugged. "I have no further use for them. I am old, past my prime. Perhaps it is time Morrigan proved she can be as grand as she supposes. Come, girl," the old woman purred. "Do not be frightened."

The phrase was so innocuous. Lyra wet her lips, wondering where the fly was in all this honey. "What would you ask in return?"

"Why, Lyra... I'm insulted," Flemeth pouted. A sly smile stretched her face, lambert eyes gleaming. "Are _you_ the only one who is allowed to give my daughter obligation-free gifts?"

"How do you know about that?" Lyra demanded in a low, hard voice.

The old woman lifted one shoulder. "I have my ways, girl. I am older than you know, and trust me when I say this. Morrigan will never be beyond my reach. It matters not where she goes, what she does. My plans are already in motion."

"Yes. That's what I thought." Glaring, Lyra lifted her sword. Responding to her whim, the runes ignited, the blade flaring with orange and gold. At her side, Kestrel crouched, a growl rumbling from his throat.

From out of the woods came flashes of white light, arcane bolts flying. A mighty bellow from the east signaled Sten's running attack, and at the same moment, Lyra felt a blast of power rush past; Alistair's smite.

But then the air seemed to melt around them, the atmosphere turning to jelly. Everything slowed; all sounds deepened and dragged, and Lyra's limbs turned to granite. Only her eyes remained untouched, and she watched, frantic, as the mage bolts stopped and spun uselessly in empty space before Flemeth. The air rippled, wavering like a pebble thrown into a lake, the gelatinous circles spreading outward from the Witch of the Wilds. Yet she'd done nothing - nothing but stand and watch with that same patient amusement etched upon her face.

"Now," Flemeth said pleasantly when all the world was still. "Let us see, shall we?" One finger reached out to touch a pale whorl of arcane energy - all that remained of Wynne's mage bolt. It shattered, fragmenting into a thousand pieces that faded and died. Strolling forward, she lifted Lyra's frozen hand, giving her attention to the rosewood ring Morrigan had urged upon her.

"Oh, how precious," she chuckled. "My own ring, and Morrigan thinks to turn it against me... well, let's not disappoint her, shall we?" Effortless, she slid the ring from Lyra's finger. Lyra choked back a pained scream, and in that instant, the world turned to black.

.oOo.

"Such a pretty thing," Flemeth's voice crooned as the rosewood ring twirled before Lyra's eyes. She floated in the dark, her limbs bound by invisible ropes, without even a breath of wind to stir her hair. Flemeth herself was nowhere to be seen, but her voice filled the emptiness well enough.

"No clever words? No threats of what you'll do to me?" Wicked joy flooded the witch's voice.

Lyra bit back a retort, then was surprised when her jaw moved in response to her thought. _Could _she speak now? "Let me go," she gritted, relieved to have her voice, even if she was still encased in cement.

"Oh, you'll have to ask more nicely than that," the witch laughed. Her smoky voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. "Aren't you curious about what I have planned? Even a little?"

"Let me _go_." Sweat beaded Lyra's brow as she struggled within her own skin, to no effect.

"Peace," Flemeth soothed. "You cannot escape. You might as well relax. Do you hunger? Thirst?"

Lyra clamped her mouth shut, throwing a glare into the ether.

"Oh ho," Flemeth chortled with delight. "Such spirit! I like you, Warden. You lend a certain spice to an otherwise predictable game." The voice circled and swooped. "You weren't in my plans, you know."

"Wasn't I." The words were desert-dry.

"No," Flemeth replied in an airy tone. "Alistair, yes. He's quite vital. His lineage alone makes him worth his weight in gold."

Alistair's lineage? _Morrigan's duty_. The thought struck like lightning. What could they do with him? His lineage... they could only mean the Theirins. "What do you want with the crown?"

That same reedy laugh sounded again. "The crown... as if I would trifle with such paltry power."

"Then what?"

Flemeth clucked her tongue. "Look, my impatient one. Perhaps you will learn something..."

The words swirled, stretching out, thinning like pulled taffy. The rosewood ring grew in her vision, the tiny circle becoming a window to another world...

_A giant man, gray of skin and white of hair, trudged along a bricked path, flanked with two others as tall and as forbidding as himself. His hands were bound, his naked body slouched with defeat. The two who walked at his side did so with faces stern and cold, eyes staring straight ahead. The coppery, rounded horns that sprouted from their brows marked them from the hornless one who walked between them. _

_A contingent of horned giants marched behind, their steps in perfect unison as they pounded the sandy bricks. Like drums of war, beating out a never ending rhythm. _

_They walked and walked. The sun set, rose, set again. Still they marched on, stopping not for food, water or rest._

_The prisoner stumbled, his knees slamming to the ground, but none came to help him up. Not a sound as he rose to his feet again, not a glance spared in his direction. No ropes were on his body, no holds that prevented him from escaping... yet he did not test his guardians. Head bowed, he looked at no man, shame pouring from the set of his shoulders. _

_The macabre parade continued, coming at last to an open compound that sprawled the length of the mountain it abutted, a pile of rock seeming out of place in the center of the verdant jungle. Golden sandstone cliffs rose for miles, and into this stone was carved a training ground._

_Giants, in perfect formation, crowded the mile of pale stone, drilling military maneuvers. At one end of the range, targets had been set. As one, rod-straight lines of gray-skinned men lifted bows and fired arrows, all in perfect precision. _

_The prisoner walked on, step by step, into the compound. All sounds ceased as he passed, the swords silencing their clashes, the arrows quieting their thunking, the grunts of men hushing. The world held its breath as the nameless one walked, until he reached a massive chair ground into the very rock of the mountain._

_The giant who sat this chair was grander than the rest, his horns wrapped with gold and silver. Archaic patterns had been tattooed into his flesh, his arms cuffed with leather and steel. Like the prisoner, his chest was bare. Unlike the prisoner, his nudity was a proud choice. _

_Eyes the color of beaten metal narrowed beneath craggy brows, perpetual indifference chiseled into the statuesque face. A vague flicker of interest gleamed as those eternal eyes lifted to pin the prisoner, as surely as a butterfly on a board._

_The prisoner sank to his knees, his head hanging in defeat. _

_From his throne, the grand giant lifted his chin. _

_The sun glinted, flashing on the blade as it arced down. Not a sound overtook the thud of the prisoner's head hitting the ground and rolling, his woeful lavender eyes rolling upward to stare at the throned giant._

The ring spun before Lyra's eyes, shrinking once more as a scream ripped from her tightened throat. The vision dwindled, the window she'd peered through growing small enough that details were impossible to make out.

Flemeth cackled.

"You witch," Lyra said, her voice broken. "Sten's fine. He's fine!"

"Do you know that?" Like mist, the voice curled around her. "Perhaps he is. Perhaps not. But for those who have lost their swords, the Qun has harsh consequences."

"Stop playing with me. Let me go, please..."

"Surely, someone will come for you? The mage, perhaps?"

Lyra flinched back as the ring expanded once more.

_The light of a magical lamp lit the woman's face, her golden hair shimmering. Robes of ruby-red wrapped around a lithe frame, hugging lissome contours. She lounged against the stone wall, a coy smile playing with her mouth._

_"You torment me." The man who spoke wore the armor of the templars. He peered around a corner, his voice soft and his eyes guarded._

_The woman giggled. "I'm right here."_

_"Yes. That's the problem." _

_Without warning, the woman was swept into an embrace. The man's coal hair and swarthy skin contrasted with her white-and-gold visage. A moan lifted between them as she tipped her head back, melting as his lips dragged over her throat._

_"Wynne..." Desperation lit his voice as he spoke between kisses. "We cannot. This is wrong."_

_"Sedrick-"_

_"No." He shoved her back, panting with effort as his handsome face twisted. "You can't keep showing up during my nightly rounds. We'll both get caught, they'll transfer me away from the tower..."_

_"Maybe that's what you'd prefer," she flared as she straightened her disheveled robes. "If you really can't stand the sight of me-"_

_The man groaned, gloved fingers raking back through his hair. "Just stop it. Whatever you've done to put yourself in my head..."_

_"I've _done_ nothing_," _Wynne snapped. "Why can't you see that you've had as much part in this as I?"_

_"The Maker will be my salvation," he muttered, half to himself. "I must resist..."_

_A wordless moment passed before Wynne crept forward to lay her hand upon his arm. "Sedrick, if you really don't want to see me anymore, I'll go. Maybe I can leave Kinloch Hold."_

_"What?" Gray eyes widened. "Why would you want to leave?"_

_She shrugged, her eyes grim. "I have no one in Ferelden. You have your family, at least. There's no reason why you should go. They could send me anywhere, and it wouldn't matter."_

_Wounded, he clasped her hands. "Do I mean so little to you?"_

_"Maker's breath, Sedrick! Tell me what you want!" The outburst startled them both. Sedrick's fingers rushed to press against Wynne's plump mouth, lest she bring unwanted attention to them both. She pushed him away, her eyes blazing. "You kiss me, you back away. You say you love me, and then you run. You order me to go, and then-"_

_Sedrick attacked, his kisses ravenous, his hands tangling in her hair. Her surrender was instantaneous, her delicate arms coiling around him. _

_"Damn the Maker, who put me on this earth as a templar and you a mage," he growled. _

_"There's a way for us," she murmured as his eyes met hers. "All we have to do is find it."_

The ring ebbed and spun before her eyes once more.

An ache had bloomed in Lyra's chest as she watched. "That was Wynne, when she was young," she murmured. "Wynne loved a templar."

"Yes..." Flemeth's voice dripped with false sympathy.

"What happened?"

"He died." Crisp as fall wind. "Her heart was broken."

Suddenly it made sense; the reason behind Wynne's cryptic warnings about falling in love.

"She was right to warn you," Flemeth continued carelessly. "Your templar won't survive the Blight."

"You can't know that," Lyra rasped. "You can't-"

"You've seen the past. Now see the future."

The ring twirled.

_The great dragon flailed, its wings dragging on the blooded earth. A raucous shriek roared from its reptilian lips, blackened teeth like obsidian daggers in the smokey haze. _

_Alistair's sword glimmered._

_Lyra screamed, held back by wiry arms as she watched her beloved tear toward his death. Fear choked her, clogging her throat as she dug fingernails into the unrelenting hold. _

_"He cannot live without you," a voice whispered._

_The fight bled from her overtired muscles as she sagged into the unknown arms, whimpering with anguish. Her smarting eyes refused to shut, her gaze glued to the man she loved more than her own life. How could he survive against such a foe?_

"STOP!" she cried, her voice shattering the ethereal vision. The ring spun in lazy circles, then stilled and shrank.

In the darkness beyond Lyra's vision, a metallic scrape stilled her heaving breaths. Lyra's heart constricted, goosebumps rising as a hazy shape took form. Scaled horns, wicked claws...

Then it faded, and from the never-ending night came a human woman, strolling through the gloom.

The witch had changed. No longer was she the hag from the woods. A handsome woman posed in the inky black, her body lithe and strong and clothed in robes of black and red. The same amber eyes glinted from her face, but her skin was no longer wrinkled and stretched, but smooth and pale as cream. Hair like moonlight flowed over her shoulders, the top layers teased into a semblance of curving dragon's horns.

Lyra sucked in a fearful breath. "Who are you?"

"I... am no one to be trifled with." Graceful fingers thrummed on a jutted hip. "What you should be asking, Warden, is what I want."

Lyra swallowed the fear that had crept up into her throat, certain that the witch would tell her, no matter what she actually said.

Flemeth rolled one dainty shoulder. "Or perhaps I shall leave you here-"

"What do you want?" She forced the words through clenched teeth.

"As I mentioned, you were not in my plans." Flemeth wandered toward her. "Alistair was _supposed _to climb the tower of Ishal alone. He was supposed to be the only Warden who survived the battle."

"Yet you healed me," Lyra returned as the witch prowled. "You could have let me die-"

"Maric's son is weak," Flemeth drawled. "Such a milksop could not hope to end the Blight... not without a strong companion. I had intended for that person to be Morrigan. But here you were, already burning within his heart. Morrigan could never hope to compete."

"Already..." Lyra trailed off, her mind whirling. Morrigan, in competition with her?

"I am not concerned." Flemeth waved a negligent hand. "My daughter is too willful, anyway; she wants nothing to do with my plans. You and Alistair make a fine pair. I daresay, Ferelden will even profit from your union. But if you want him to live, there is a price. And Lyra..."

Those wild eyes burned through her.

"You must promise me you will not interfere."

It was too much to absorb all at once. Lyra's thoughts spun in endless circles. "I can hardly promise without details," she said at last. "Just what is it you intend?"

"I will tell you. And then I will give you my grimoires. You will give them to Morrigan. She will believe me dead." Like bits of living flame, the witch's eyes seared. "If she does not, all will be lost."

Lyra trembled. "She'll know. I won't be able to lie to her."

"I will assist you." The rosewood ring appeared. Hands softer than satin touched Lyra's fingers, the ring sliding onto her finger once more. "Wear it. At least until you have given the books to Morrigan. Then, take it off, lose it, burn it - it will not matter. My spell will be complete."

Lyra moistened lips gone dry. "How do I know you're not lying?"

"You don't," came the soft reply. "But are you really willing to risk your love's neck?"

"Supposing I simply kill you instead."

Flemeth gave a grand bow. "You are welcome to try."

Gnawing her lip, Lyra strained against her invisible bonds.

"Would you like to see how they are getting on without you? How they are wandering the woods, lost and alone?" Flemeth lifted a milk-white hand to investigate her nails. "I have all the time in the world, Warden. You, however, do not."

With a frustrated grunt, Lyra relaxed her efforts. Her body refused to cooperate. It was no use. Wherever Flemeth had taken her, it was nowhere in this world, and after seeing the way the witch had stopped time and space, Lyra doubted anyone would ever find her. "You'll give me your grimoires."

A slow nod from Flemeth.

"And Alistair will live."

"As will you." The voice brimmed with amusement once more. "Do not be so quick to discount your own life, Warden."

She was making a deal with the devil. But the image she'd seen through the ring thrust itself before her eyes once more; Alistair, dead beneath the Archdemon's claws...

"Very well," she whispered.

.oOo.

The sun had risen to its apex when Leliana spotted them stumbling from the woods. Morrigan dashed across the camp, her skirts flying as she met them at the treeline, with the bard right behind her.

"You're back!" Leliana threw her arms around Lyra, nearly knocking her from her feet.

Lyra laughed, feeling a touch giddy. "Easiest thing in the world." Still smiling, she eased from Leliana's embrace, holding out an armful of tattered black books. "For you, Morrigan."

The witch's eyes glowed as she took the grimoires. "You did it. I cannot believe it."

"Believe it," Alistair grinned. "There were a few close moments... Flemeth isn't quite as helpless as you said."

"But it's over." Lyra slipped her hand into Alistair's and squeezed. Their time in the woods felt like a dream, hazy and muddled. She'd been mulling it over as they walked, comparing notes with Alistair. As far as they could tell, Flemeth had attempted some sort of spell, but it had backfired, leaving her gasping upon the ground. She'd died moments later, clutching her heart. Wynne had checked her, and found no trace of breath or life.

Looking down on Flemeth's body, a feeling of unease had wormed in Lyra's gut. The witch was dead. Everything about her confirmed it. But...

Though Flemeth had hardly seemed like the religious type, Lyra had insisted on a pyre. They'd left the withered body smoking, the scent of roasting flesh a maudlin accompaniment that chased them from Flemeth's domain.

Their goal had been accomplished. The wicked witch was dead.

"What's wrong?" Alistair squeezed her hand as Lyra twirled the rosewood ring on her finger.

They were all alive, and they'd succeeded, with far more ease than anyone had hoped for. Drawing a deep breath, Lyra smiled at him as she shook off her nameless turmoil. "Nothing."


	36. Lothering's Hero

**Chapter 34  
>Lothering's Hero<strong>

Lyra opened her eyes to the afternoon sun, which had decided to come out from its hiding place in the soupy clouds that had held sway all morning. After their tryst with Flemeth, a nap had seemed like just the thing.

"Hey, you're awake."

Lyra sat up and stretched, giving Alistair a sleepy smile. "You woke up before me."

"You were sacked out." Alistair poked the coals of the fire he sat at, stirring it to life. "Want a sandwich?"

She was on the verge of saying yes when a horrible, cramping nausea turned her stomach inside out. Dark chills raced in her blood, and cold sweat broke over her skin. Squinching her eyes shut, she pressed a hand to her middle, holding her breath in an attempt to regain control of herself.

"Darkspawn," Alistair's strained voice opened her eyes again. "A lot of them. They're coming... Come on. We have to warn the village!"

Staggering to his feet, Alistair took her hand and pulled her along. Lyra suppressed a chill, hoping she wouldn't throw up. "Is _that_ what I'm feeling?" she gasped.

"You can feel it?"

"I'm about to vomit all over you."

"Congratulations. You're a full Grey Warden. Now tamp it down."

Lyra breathed deeply as Alistair coached her through the nausea, fighting back the sickening feeling. They tore into the main square of Lothering. Alistair took a stance in the middle of the bridge as Lyra brought herself back from the brink of illness.

"People of Lothering, hear me! Darkspawn are coming, and they'll be pouring out of the woods in only a few minutes. Anyone who owns a weapon, _please_ join me on the battlefield! We can save Lothering yet, but we _must hurry!_"

It was like kicking a hornet's nest. People began rushing madly about, crying, shoving, and tripping over each other.

Alistair shouted again. "Fighters, assemble in the field past the windmill. Everyone else, get women and children to safety. Bar your doors, go down cellar. Do not stop to take valuables - take food for an evening meal and blankets for the night, and _go!_"

He turned next to Lyra. "Warn Bodahn, and rally our troops. I'll see you at the windmill." Grabbing her arms, he kissed her hard, then dashed away.

Lyra swayed, forcing down another wave of nausea. Shutting her eyes, she concentrated... then felt control returning. The feeling was still present, but not overwhelming.

And now she could sense direction, and numbers... no less than fifty, but probably not more than a hundred. A large band, but not the catastrophic ending she had feared. The Archdemon was nowhere to be found.

Her stomach calmed, Lyra raced to Bodahn's wagon, but he was already packing up. "Can you handle it, Bodahn?" she shouted over the din of people.

He nodded. "I'm prepared for this, Lyra dear. Don't worry about me and Sandal - we've got a hidey hole just for us! Take your people, and go kill the 'spawn!"

She grinned, and called Zevran and Leliana to help. The three of them gathered Sten, Wynne, Morrigan and Kestrel from the campsite. In minutes, everyone had assembled at the windmill.

Alistair was shouting instructions to the assembled fighters, and more were trotting up as he spoke. Some had armor, some had leather jerkins. Others wore the linen clothing they'd stood up in that morning, and a few were bare-chested. One man gripped a huge axe that Lyra was certain was used primarily on tree trunks. There were many who held bows, as well. She saw Eve Hawke with a dark-haired young man. _Her brother,_ she thought. Both wore beat-up armor bearing the sigil of Cailan's regiment. Eve had a longsword, and Carver was holding a huge, two-handed bastard sword. Bethany was not in sight.

It was a motley group, but Lyra was encouraged by their numbers. There were at least thirty fighters, in addition to their group of seven, plus Kestrel. A few other mabari were present as well. It would not be a rout.

Lyra's heart lifted. Buckling her helmet into place, she walked to the front of the army and stood by Alistair.

"Darkspawn are mindless," he told the crowd. "They will go for the easiest kill - do _not_ give it to them! Strike hard and sure, and they will fall. Be careful of the blood - if anyone is cut or injured, leave the battlefield immediately. It only takes a drop in your system, and you're finished. The Taint will kill you as surely as the Darkspawn, and it is _not_ a pleasant death. My fellow Grey Warden and I will be out in front, and we will do everything we can to kill as many as possible before you need draw your own weapons.

"Archers, to the front! When the Darkspawn emerge, fire at will. When they come too close, withdraw and continue to shoot from a location you deem safe. Swordsmen, choose a partner and _watch each other's backs!_ Do _not _let them flank you! Questions?"

There was some shuffling of feet, but for a hastily organized gathering they seemed surprisingly ready. Lyra smiled at Alistair's leadership of the group. In a crisis, he was marvelous, and it made her proud.

Alistair continued. "The only heroic thing to do here is _survive._ I am immune to the Taint, as is my fellow, and our risk is therefore less. That is why Grey Wardens exist. So do not think to come help us. Allow us to kill as many of them as we can before you join the battle."

His speeching finished, Alistair turned next to Lyra. "Ready?"

She nodded, and pulled her sword.

The assembled fighters gasped as it flamed a brilliant gold and orange. Alistair drew his sword as well, his blade crackling with lightning. The two of them strode toward the edge of the woods.

The sense of nausea grew almost unbearable, and Lyra broke out in beads of cold sweat.

"I'm going to throw up," she whispered.

"Not right now you're not. Deep breaths," Alistair said sternly. She did her best to comply, but the nausea grew until she thought it might consume her.

There was a rustle in the treeline, and then Genlocks began pouring out of the brush. Alistair charged toward them, shouting a battle cry. Lyra's feet carried her forward with him, and she heard her own voice screaming at the Darkspawn.

If the Darkspawn were afraid of the noise they were making, they didn't show it. Bloodlust shone in their heartless eyes, madness shrilling from their mottled throats.

In only seconds, Lyra was surrounded. She began whirling, her blades tearing through skin and bone. Wet _thwacks _echoed close by, arrows blossoming in the bodies of the Darkspawn. Lyra sank her dagger into the neck of a screaming Genlock, and as she pulled it free she slashed with her sword and decapitated another. Another Genlock pounced on her, and she drove her short blade into his ribs, shoving the monster off. It fell to the ground, and she plunged her sword through its chest.

Alistair's sword sent bolts of electricity rattling through the bodies of every enemy it touched, stunning them. He bashed out with his shield, sending three and four Genlocks at a time skidding to the ground. Obscenities poured from his mouth as he taunted them, daring them to come and kill him. They responded savagely, clawing and biting at one another to get at the man, even abandoning Lyra to try and swarm him.

Alistair's shield bashed out again, a wave of Genlocks flying away. Lyra flanked them, dancing nimbly over their bodies. She stabbed with dagger and sword, ending their lives before they could rise and attack again. Runic fire spread from body to body, and the Genlocks howled with pain as they were set alight.

Alistair taunted the Darkspawn again. They continued to rush him, consumed with the need to tear him limb from limb. A sudden burst of flame, and Lyra glanced over to see Morrigan with her staff, sending bolts of fire zooming toward the enemy. Wynne was casting as well, and more Genlocks fell to the ground as they were hit with stones and clumps of earth. Lyra raced to the trees to meet more of the Darkspawn head on as they flooded out of the forest.

A Hurlock met its end on her blade, and another Genlock hissed at her as she slashed its neck with her dagger. Suddenly she was knocked backward, and her head hit the ground with a sickening _thud_. The world disappeared for a moment, and she awoke screaming as a Genlock yanked a dark blade from her stomach.

A grunting moan lifted from her throat, her fingers curling into the sticky warmth that oozed from her belly. Wynne was beside her in a moment, and Lyra felt the warm, soothing touch of her healing magic as her guts knitted themselves back together. In a moment she felt whole again, and Wynne raced off to help someone else without a word.

Morrigan was fully in the battle now. Bolts of lightning and flame flew from her staff and fingertips. Leliana had joined the fight as well, blades flashing as she tumbled artistically through the Darkspawn. Zevran was at her side, his fighting style swift and savage. A handful of dirt was flung into one Hurlock's face before the slender elf thrust his blade into the creature's belly. She didn't see Alistair, but after a moment she heard his yell as he tried once again to draw the Darkspawn away from the other fighters.

Taking an experimental breath, Lyra pulled herself to her feet, amazed to discover that she didn't even hurt. Renewed, she charged toward Alistair, screeching a battle cry. The Darkspawn spun to meet her with slavering jaws. Weapons twirled in slashes and stabs, pain and death dealt out with every swing. Sten's bastard sword curved in a long, powerful arc. Blood flew as he cleaved a Hurlock entirely in half.

"Watch the blood, Sten!" Lyra yelled.

The Hawke siblings were doing impressive damage as well. They stood back to back, killing the Darkspawn with controlled, efficient strokes of their weapons. Wynne darted around the battlefield, applying healing magic or helping people get away.

Kestrel was in his element, snarling and tearing throats from the Darkspawn. He leapt nimbly from body to body, twisting to avoid blades, leading the other war dogs in a pack of snapping teeth and messy, violent death.

The Darkspawn were thinning. It didn't seem possible that it could be over so soon, but no sooner had the thought crossed Lyra's mind than a tingle of nausea writhed in her gut, and from the treeline crashed a huge Ogre.

"Maker's ass," Lyra muttered. The grass swished as she pounded toward the beast, Alistair's bone-rattling yell rending the air as he, too, charged. The Ogre roared, daring them to come.

Lyra felt its stinking breath bathe her in a wash of rot and dampness, and she drove her sword into its navel and twisted. It shrieked with rage and swiped at her with enormous hands. She let go of her sword and jumped back, leaving the blade embedded in the Ogre's stomach.

With a grunt of annoyance, the Ogre looked down and wrapped its ham-fingers around the blade to pull it from its body. A fatal moment of distraction.

Alistair leaped. His sword sparked purple, the blade singing as it connected with the Ogre's neck, neatly separating its foul head from its body.

The corpse dropped to its knees, then collapsed into the grass and lay still.

All was silent, and then a slow cheer began, which grew to a roar. The warriors of Lothering rushed Alistair and Lyra. They were mobbed by dozens of joyful, enthusiastic people. After a heady moment of chatter, Alistair pushed his way free of the crowd to address them all.

"Lothering, your battle is won! Well fought, my brethren. But this is not the end. The Blight is coming, and that group was only the beginning. My fellow Warden and I must leave in the morning to continue to warn Ferelden, and all of you must leave as well if you wish to live. Tomorrow, if you have the means. I can sense the Darkspawn, and I think the next group is less than twenty miles away in the Wilds. If this battle is any indication, they will be heading here."

"Where can we go?" one man shouted. "Our homes are here!"

"Go to Redcliffe," Lyra told them. "They have jobs and homes to spare. Many of their citizens were recently killed by an evil which has since been eradicated, but it has left the village sorely in need of able-bodied men and women. Travel with us, if you'd like - we leave in the morning with the merchant Bodahn, and our next stop is Redcliffe Village. Bring only what you need to survive - food, clothing. Your most precious possessions are your lives. There isn't time to waste on trivialities."

The folk of Lothering dispersed, talking quietly amongst themselves, many of them making plans to leave with the Wardens in the morning. Lyra hoped most of them would come. She couldn't feel the same things Alistair could, not yet, but she was certain he was right when he said the Darkspawn would be coming, and in greater numbers. If they couldn't save people, then what was the point of being a Warden?

.oOo.

"This is a zoo," Lyra laughed.

At least a hundred had shown up to follow them to Redcliffe; most of the population of Lothering. They carried their things on their backs, or pulled carts. One girl had three goats on a tatty rope lead, and another family was pushing an enclosed cart filled with chickens. There were mules and even a few milk cows, one of whom had a calf that bleated mercilessly.

"Have you seen the Hawke family?" Lyra asked, her eyes skimming the bustling crowd.

Alistair shook his head, distracted, then gave a friendly smile to a young girl who ran up and gave him a hunk of cheese wrapped in linen.

Lothering was worshiping Alistair. All morning he'd been receiving gifts, everything from a new whetstone to bouquets of flowers to offers to polish his armor. It didn't matter what Alistair kept trying to tell them - that they'd done just as much fighting as he had. They would hear none of it. He was the hero of the day, and Lyra enjoyed seeing him put up on a pedestal. She didn't even really mind when groups of giggling young women came to blush and stammer, admiring his sword and asking to see the lightning.

"This is crazy," Alistair told her during a lull. "You were death incarnate on that battlefield. And Morrigan must have killed ten at once with that fire spell. I saw it. She saved my ass once. Why are all these people convinced that _I'm_ the one they should thank?"

"Alistair, you are the one they should thank," she laughed. "_You_ sensed the Darkspawn, _you_ rallied the townsfolk. _You _told them what to do. And then when it was over, _you_ told them what to do next."

He looked uncomfortable. "I just did what was necessary. That doesn't make me a hero."

"Of course it does, you big, loveable idiot. And believe me, these people need a hero right now." She looked out across the mass of humanity that followed Bodahn's caravan. "You're the perfect hero. So quit fighting it and enjoy it."

Alistair sighed, then grinned. "If you insist." He unwrapped the linen, revealing a piece of fine cheddar cheese. "Want some? Oh wait, you're not the hero... I'd share, but this is _hero_ cheese."

"You're an ass," Lyra snickered, then snatched the chunk of cheese from his hand and took a bite.

They walked all day. Alistair and Lyra struck up a conversation that afternoon with a young family; a husband, wife, two small girls and a newborn baby. Lyra cooed over the infant, and the tired mother allowed her to carry him for awhile while he slept. Alistair swung one of the girls up on his shoulders, and she squealed with delight to be riding so high.

Lyra smiled at the handsome Warden, charmed by the way he answered the little girl's questions and pointed out interesting things in the landscape.

_This is what it would be like,_ Lyra thought sadly. _In another life, in another world. _She looked down at the sleeping baby in her arms and kissed his forehead lightly, brushing her nose along his eyelashes and the soft, eider-down of his cheek.

.oOo.

Morrigan walked alone, observing them quietly and listening to their talk. Her hands gathered plants as she walked, some for dinner that evening, some for medicinal purposes. She resolved to speak with Lyra privately, once she had studied the grimoires.


	37. Moments of Weakness

**Chapter 36  
>Moments of Weakness<strong>

Lyra snickered as Alistair shoveled food into his mouth. "So, what you're telling me is, they named it that because the rocks are _red_."

The Warden swallowed, grinning as he wiped a smear of mutton gravy from his chin. "That's what I'm saying. I know, it seems unbelievable."

Lyra giggled and shook her head, rolling her eyes as she turned back to her dinner. She'd just scooped up a spoonful of beans when a lump of blooded fur splashed onto her plate.

Shrieking, Lyra flipped the entire meal from her lap, the dish clanging to the ground and spilling stew everywhere. Kestrel leapt to the rescue, lapping up bits of meat and sauce.

Lyra scowled at Alistair, who'd begun laughing at her. The sound of a throat clearing drew both of their gazes to their favorite apostate, who regarded them with her hands upon her hips. "What, I ask," she said in a voice soft and menacing, "is the meaning of _that_?"

Lyra dug her tongue into her cheek, taking a moment to gather her patience. "That was my dinner. I might ask you the same thing."

"_That_," Morrigan announced in a haughty voice, "is a disemboweled squirrel."

"Ah." Annoyance flared. "If dropping a disemboweled squirrel into my dinner is your idea of a joke, it isn't funny."

"I agree, 'tis anything but funny. And when I found it in my things, 'twas anything but 'funny'." Morrigan's glare could have melted stone. "Your disgusting animal left that slobbery carcass among my personal effects. I don't know why you even keep him - and I don't know why he would hide a bleeding corpse in my things!"

The penitent mabari crept forward on his belly, his eyes big and his ears laid flat as he whined up at Morrigan.

Lyra sighed and folded her arms, transferring her ire to her dog. "Kestrel, did you do that?"

"Lighten up, Morrigan. It was a gift. He's showing you that he likes you, aren't you, puppy?" Alistair said lazily, and reached over to ruffle the mabari's ears.

"I prefer my food less than rotten when I eat it, hound," Morrigan said in a cool, irritated tone. "Not to mention cooked."

A pathetic whine sang from Kestrel's throat, his liquid eyes doleful.

"Oh, for goodness' sake. I'm not angry. Not truly. But the next time your furry little heart wishes to gift me with a dead animal, do not bury it in my bedding."

"Do you want me to wash everything for you, Morrigan? I can get extra blankets from Bodahn, and yours will be ready again in the morning," Lyra offered.

"Do not trouble yourself. I have already taken care of it." The witch turned to Kestrel, who hunkered in shame at her feet, his eyes turned up in mournful plea. "Do not stare at me like that, mongrel. Your supposed charms will not work."

Kestrel whined, then 'rowled' in the back of his throat. Mabari were supposed to be smart enough not to talk, but it sounded almost as if he was making the attempt.

"I have nothing you desire! Why do you keep looking at me so? Can you not tell when you are not wanted?"

Kestrel stood and worked his head beneath her hand.

Morrigan curled her fingers away from his fur, patting gingerly with the palm of her hand. "There. Now desist in pestering me, odious canine." She lifted her hands away from her body and turned to go.

Kestrel began to follow her, but Lyra signaled him away. The dog padded off sadly, his head hanging in dejection. He flopped down beside Leliana, who was tuning her new lute and strumming the strings quietly. One of the villagers had given the lute to Alistair, who had re-gifted it to Leliana, much to the bard's surprise and delight. She had played it for everyone the evening before, and the entire caravan had joined in for an impromptu evening of song and dance. Alistair had been passed from hand to hand, much to his embarrassment. Lyra didn't think there was a single woman in the caravan he hadn't danced with. She'd had many offers to dance, as well, but the attention she got was nothing compared to Alistair. Lothering had adopted him. It was lovely to see Alistair's estimation of himself rise, surrounded by people who wanted to love him.

Lyra threw a dirty look at the mage's retreating back as she flopped back down next to Alistair, her stomach grumbling over her lost dinner. "I can't believe she just dropped that thing in my lap. She's such a savage."

"She's not so bad," Alistair demurred. "A little rough around the edges, sure, but as you said, she's not a bad sort."

Lyra gave him an odd look as she reached for her plate, planning on cleaning and refilling it. "I know you two have settled your differences, but that's just weird, to hear you say Morrigan's not so bad."

"She just doesn't understand a lot about humans. She grew up basically alone, you know. One step away from being raised by wolves."

"I suppose," Lyra said, shuddering again as she caught sight of the dismembered critter lying in the dirt.

"It_ was _sort of funny," Alistair grinned. For answer, she smacked his shoulder repeatedly as he laughed and tried to block her hands.

.oOo.

At her fire, Morrigan kept her eyes on her book as she held out her hand. Kestrel's teeth took the bit of meat from her fingers, gentle as can be, before he wolfed it down with quiet doggy noises.

"If you tell anyone of this, I shall kill you in your sleep," she murmured, turning a page.

The hound licked her fingers.

.oOo.

Four days later, the caravan rolled into Redcliffe, the marchers tired and dusty and ready for roofs and beds. With the slow pace of the caravan wheels and the pack of humanity that straggled behind, it had taken longer than the Wardens had expected to get there. Alistair and Lyra scouted on ahead of the group to alert Bann Teagan to the coming horde, and Redcliffe rolled out a royal welcome for the refugees.

"I'm glad you thought of this," Alistair said to Lyra. "It almost seems like it was meant to be. Not that I'm glad so many died in the demon attacks, but at least we were able to save _some _folks."

The Wardens and their party were invited to guest in Redcliffe's castle, and they settled gratefully into comfortable rooms with hot water and plush beds. Arlessa Isolde was welcoming, although she made no further overtures of friendship toward Lyra or Alistair. Bann Teagan was happy to see them, though, and Connor gave an excited hug to all but Morrigan and Sten, who stayed out of arms' reach.

Alistair and Lyra asked quietly about Arl Eamon, and Teagan told them there had been no change. None of the knights sent in search of the Urn had come home to Redcliffe. The situation was growing desperate. Eamon was being kept alive somehow; Mother Hannah came to pray over him daily, but he was wasted as a skeleton, his eyes shrunken back into a taut skull. How long could he last?

"How went the search in Denerim? Did you find Brother Genitivi?" Teagan asked over dinner. They told him of Genitivi's journal and the false assistant Weylon, but Lyra tried to keep the descriptions of Weylon and the carnage to a minimum since Connor was listening closely.

"The Urn is still our best chance," Isolde said at last, resolved. "I will continue my prayers to the Maker. Surely not all the knights have been lost."

"Whether they have or not, we plan to go to Haven next," Alistair said. "We'll do everything in our power to help Eamon."

Lyra nodded. Though she wished to save Eamon for Alistair's sake, as well, the influence they would gain by having the Arl on their side made the errand irresistible. With her parents dead, the only person who held more political sway than Teyrn Loghain was Arl Eamon Guerrin. Stopping Loghain from strong-arming the throne would take all the help they could muster.

Bodahn needed only a day in Redcliffe, since the original population of Redcliffe was so small, and they agreed to set out for Lake Calenhad very soon.

"I was thinking," Alistair said that night after dinner. They were in his room, washing their clothing in a tub of hot soapy water they'd begged from the servants. Kestrel snoozed in the corner, his giant head resting on his paws. Tunics and smallclothes littered the room; every surface sported a drying garment. "Maybe we should go ahead of the caravan to Haven. According to the map in Brother Genitivi's journal, it's only a day and a half from here. We can split up; leave a few people with Bodahn, and we'll go to Haven to see what there is to see. Save time, you know?" Alistair wrung out a sock and handed it to Lyra.

Lyra nodded, thinking about it. It made sense. With their party acting as guardians, the caravan was moving at a better pace than Bodahn had expected, but both she and Alistair were chafing at the delays. It was only to be expected when traveling with a merchant, but even so, the days were slipping away faster than Lyra liked to think about. The Archdemon would hardly wait until they were ready. She draped the sock over a length of rope they had strung between the bedposts. "So, you and I will go. Who else?"

"Morrigan, I think. And maybe Zevran, and Kestrel of course," Alistair mused. "Wynne, Sten and Leliana can go with Bodahn to Lake Calenhad. Sten can look for his sword while they're there, and Wynne can check in with the Circle if she needs to. She might want to pick up any magical supplies she needs, as well."

Lyra sat back and gazed at Alistair. His arms were slicked with water, the bar of soap in one hand as he brushed it vigorously over the last shirt in the tub. A speculative look was in his eyes as he considered the various attributes of each of their party members, mumbling to himself. He held up the shirt to inspect it a moment later, then plunged it into the water again.

"You know, you've grown a lot since we first met," Lyra said.

Alistair stopped scrubbing and cocked a brow at her. "What do you mean?"

"Here you are, making plans, deciding who should come with us. In the beginning, you told me you were scared of responsibility. And here you are, leading everyone." She smiled at him. "I'm so proud of you."

The happy grin he gave her brightened his whole face. "Thanks, I guess. It isn't that hard, really. I mean, if you can do it..." he teased.

"Oh, very funny." She dipped her fingers into the water and flicked droplets in his face.

"Seriously though, Lyra, you're not upset that I've been making some of the decisions?" His brow furrowed as he wiped the drops away with one arm.

"Not a bit. I'm glad we're both leading now. I said I wasn't afraid of the responsibility, but it was weighing me down a lot. Sharing the burden is easier." She planted a kiss on his cheek, then stroked the back of his head with her fingers. "Your hair is getting long again."

"I'll have to ask Leliana to trim it for me." Alistair wrung out the last shirt. He passed it to her, and she hung it carefully over the rope. "And now I'll just open the window so everything can dry, and we can sneak away to your room, which is beautifully free of wet clothing."

"Do you suppose Teagan and Isolde would be scandalized if they found out we're sharing blankets?" Lyra asked.

Alistair leaned down to kiss her on the nose. "Darling, I don't care if all of Ferelden finds out. What happens between you and me is between you and me, and the rest of the world can say what they like. I don't give two coppers for their opinions." Hooking his fingers beneath her chin, he urged her close for a kiss. Feeling blissful, Lyra threaded her fingers with his and followed him out the door. And when Valena saw them both go into her room, she shrugged it off. Gossip be damned.

.oOo.

The next morning, Bodahn pointed his wagon toward Lake Calenhad. Lyra, Alistair, Morrigan and Zevran set out for the village of Haven, with Kestrel in tow. The loose plan was for them to meet outside of Orzammar in a week's time. Bodahn was interested in Haven, but he hadn't known of the town's existence in time to include it in his trading plans. "Look around for me, and see if they'd want a twice-yearly stop. I'll work them into my route if they'd like," the trader said.

Bann Teagan hadn't been able to given them any advice about the tiny town. It didn't appear on any regular maps, and it seemed no one had ever heard of the place.

The first day of traveling passed without incident. After dinner, Lyra paged idly through Brother Genitivi's journal as they sat by the fire. "Morrigan," she began. "Have you ever heard anything about 'Dragon Cults'?"

"Why are you asking me?" the witch returned, sounding cross. "I am no expert on your country's traditions or religion. Ask your templar."

Alistair shrugged, and Zevran looked up from an inspection of his dagger. "I know nothing of this, _bella flor_."

"Me either," Alistair said.

Lyra held up the book. "Listen to this, everyone... _Let us suggest, for the moment, that a high dragon is simply an animal. A cunning animal, to be sure, but in possession of no true self-awareness or sentience. There has not, after all, been a single recorded case of a dragon attempting to communicate or performing any act that could not likewise be attributed to a clever beast."_

Lyra continued to read from the journal, which went on for several paragraphs about Dragon Cults and the high dragons they worshiped. _"From Flame and Scale, by Brother Florian, Chantry scholar, 9-28 Dragon,"_ she finished.

The fire snapped and crackled as sparks lifted. "Why does Brother Genitivi have notes regarding Dragon Cults in his journal about the Urn of Sacred Ashes?" Zevran asked.

"And why has no one heard of this town we are traveling to?" Morrigan wondered. "If you ask me, we should be more concerned about that."

Lyra tapped the spine of the journal against her lips, considering. "I've got a bad feeling about this whole thing," she said. "None of the knights came back from looking for the Urn. There was a man posing as Weylon in Genitivi's home in Denerim, and a decaying corpse in his back room. Genitivi himself is missing for months. And now, this entry about Dragon Cults..."

"It doesn't seem good, whatever it is," Alistair said.

.oOo.

Wynne rode in the back of the wagon, as usual. She was looking forward to checking in with Irving and seeing how things were at the Tower. It would be good to see Petra again, as well, and Irving would be interested to hear about Aneirin. Though, that conversation would be best had in private, away from the ears of the templars.

The cheery bard hummed to herself as she strolled a dozen feet behind the wagon. Her musical laugh drew Wynne's attention from the tome she'd absorbed herself in.

"Sten... I saw you," Leliana's voice caroled.

"What?"

"You were picking flowers." Teasing.

"I was not," Sten replied, but his voice held a note of panic.

"You were! I saw you! You like flowers, do you Sten?" The girl sounded delighted.

"I... they were medicinal. The healer sent me after them," Sten muttered.

Wynne chuckled to herself. She'd done no such thing.

"Oh, come now, Sten. Wynne isn't making potions today. You're nothing but a big softie, aren't you?"

"I am a soldier of the Beresaad. I am not a 'softie'."

"Softie..." Leliana sang.

Sten sighed.

A few minutes passed in silence. Wynne had gotten lost in her book again when Leliana's voice perked her ears.

"You _were_ picking flowers. There's nothing wrong with that. Men are allowed to like beautiful things, too. Or is that not something that is accepted by your culture?"

"I was not picking flowers," Sten said stubbornly.

"Softie," Leliana teased again.

The qunari growled.

"You don't scare me," Leliana said flippantly.

"I should. Your Fereldan ways are changing me. This would not happen in Par Vollen. A little girl had the nerve to ask me for a piggy-back ride as we walked to Redcliffe. How can I be a good soldier if even a child is not afraid of me?" To hear the stoic giant, one would think his world was ending.

"You can be a good soldier and still enjoy beauty, Sten," Leliana said. "When the land is not at war, men must lead regular lives... raise families, farm crops, and find beauty in the world. Isn't that what you do in your Seheron?"

"A soldier is always a soldier," Sten insisted. "A farmer is always a farmer. An artisan is always an artisan. Fereldans are confusing. Your farmers wish to be merchants, your merchants wish to be nobles, your nobles take up swords. Is no one happy to be what they are born?"

"People can change," Leliana said, sounding surprised. "They can change what they want, they can change their lives."

Silence for a moment, the creak of wheels and the soft thump of their boots the only sounds. Wynne had kept her eyes on her book, lest the young people think she was listening. Of course, she _was_ listening. But if they thought she was, they might stop talking.

Keeping her eyes lowered, Wynne turned a page, though she was no longer interested in the advanced preparations of canaveris.

"Your commander. Lyra. She is a woman, yes?"

Wynne bit back a snicker.

"Of course!" Leliana seemed shocked. "She doesn't look anything like a man - why would you doubt she was a woman?"

"I was not sure. Women are not soldiers. Soldiers are not women. So it seemed to me that she must either not be a soldier, or not be a woman. She could not be both."

"Here in Ferelden, women_ can_ be both," Leliana said firmly. "It is the way we live. Anyone can be anything they want, as long as they have the means to do it."

Sten sighed. "I find it all very confusing."


	38. The Sneeze Heard All 'Round Haven

**Chapter 37  
>The Sneeze Heard All 'Round Haven<strong>

"So Jowan is dead." Wynne's cultured voice was mournful. "I had so hoped he would return with you."

"He ran that night, and was struck down. It saddened me, but he made his choice," Irving sighed.

Wynne relaxed in her customary chair in First Enchanter Irving's office as told her of all the official goings on, glad to hear of the improvements that were planned for the tower. It was nice to return and see things as they should be. Kinloch Hold had been scoured from top to bottom, and if not for the missing people, she could have believed Uldred's uprising had never occurred.

Such predictability was reassuring, yet Leliana had been right... Wynne _did _long for adventure. She wasn't unhappy to bid Irving goodbye an hour later, and go in search of her old apprentice before making her way back across the lake.

Petra had taken an apprentice of her own, and introduced the little girl with a proud smile. How young they both seemed. The palsy hadn't come for Wynne as she'd seen it come for others, but every wrinkle and age-spot seemed larger in comparison to Petra's smooth, unblemished skin.

Once Petra had dismissed the little one, the two of them settled in for a nice long chat. Wynne smiled over her teacup as Petra babbled on, telling her of all the latest tower gossip.

"Solona's apprentice was Harrowed a few days ago," Petra remarked as she reached for another cookie.

"What was his name?" Wynne's brow puckered.

"Alim."

"Ah, yes. Elven?"

Petra nodded, her mouth full. She swallowed suddenly and began giggling, then reached for her tea.

"What's funny?" Wynne's heart warmed to see such happiness on Petra's face.

"I've just remembered that Anders got out again," she snickered. "If it was anyone else, we'd be up in arms over it... but Anders being Anders, it slipped my mind as being unusual! There's bets laid for when he'll come back. I've got the hour after sunset. The commander sent Cullen out after him."

Wynne chuckled, then slipped a coin from her purse. "Add this to your bet. If we win, I'll collect when I come home."

Petra winked as she pocketed the coin, then sobered. "When _will_ you be back, Wynne? You worry me."

"Pish tosh. I may not be a spring chicken, but there is still life in these old bones."

"That isn't what I meant..." Petra trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

Wynne's smile faded, but then she reached across the small table and gripped the girl's hand reassuringly. "Don't fret, my dear. I am just fine. I have... protection."

.oOo.

"It was here," Sten said.

Leliana's keen eyes combed the landscape, her lips pursing in thought. They stood on the edge of the hamlet by Lake Calenhad, and there wasn't much to indicate anything out of the ordinary, much less a battle of any kind. Leliana wandered through the trees, searching for anything out of place.

A glint caught her eye... the kind that could only mean sunlight on metal. With a squeal of glee, she picked it up and brushed it off. It _was_ a piece of battered metal, rusted, but with a few shiny spots. She handed it to Sten. "Recognize it?"

The giant turned it over in his fingers. "Yes. It is a buckle from the breastplate of one of my fellows. Or perhaps even from myself-"

"Oy! You!" A voice cut him off, and Leliana and Sten turned to see a weasel of a man climbing the hill. "At's mine." He snatched the buckle from Sten's fingers.

"It isn't yours either, we just found it in the dirt," Leliana protested.

" 'is is _my_ spot, and anyfing 'ere is _mine_ to sell or do as I like wif," the man said. "Wan' it? It'll cost you... four silvah."

"For an old rusted buckle?" Leliana scoffed. "It can't be worth more than a few coppers."

The man spat into the dirt. "It ain't my fault all the good stuff is alriddy gone. From wha' I hear, they was all kindsa treasure. Giant shields, swords- "

"Where are the swords?" Sten strode forward and hoisted the man up by his armpits.

Leliana gasped, then snickered to see the peasant dangling like a live fish from Sten's enormous hands. He kicked helplessly, spinning and flopping. "I dunno! I swear! Bloke named Faryn sold me 'is spot - said I'd make good coin! But what 'e didn't tell me is he alriddy took all the best stuff, bloody arse pimple! Put me down! Don' kill me, please... I ain' worf it!"

Leliana giggled again. The man was so very pathetic. "Where is this Faryn now?" she asked, her arms crossing.

" 'e's in Orzammar! 'e's selling what he's collected! Miss, I got nuffink else I kin tell you - please let me go! I'll - I'll give you the buckle for free! One on old Bill, howsaboutit?"

The idea of receiving the rusted belt buckle as an incentive not to kill this sad, wretched little man was enough to dissolve Leliana's composure. She whooped with laughter. As for Bill, he began to cry big slobbery tears. Sten dropped him in disgust, and Bill stumbled all over himself in his hurry to run down the hill and away from his captors.

"Orzammar..." Leliana wiped tears of mirth from her eyes. "Sten, you were magnificent."

"I have never heard that phrase before. I shall have to remember it..." Sten said thoughtfully.

"What? Magnificent?"

"No. Bloody arse pimple."

Hilarity claimed her again. Sten's somber voice uttering such a ridiculous phrase was more than she could take.

The qunari waited for her to quiet before asking, "This is humorous?"

"This _is_ humorous, yes." Leliana smiled as she calmed herself. "I think when we tell our companions about this, _you_ should be the one to relate this story. You have excellent timing, Sten." She strolled toward the tavern. Sten followed, claiming not to understand what she meant by 'excellent timing'.

Leliana pushed open the door. As with their first visit, the innkeep called out, "Welcome to the Spoiled Princess. How may we serve you?"

"Ale, please," Leliana said. He scurried to bring them two tankards as the two of them sat at a table. "Wynne should be back in a few hours. Until then... I suppose we just wait," Leliana said.

Bodahn had set up shop in the middle of the hamlet, and the few citizens who lived in town were perusing his wares. He had told Leliana and Sten to go on. Traffic was so light he didn't need guards of any kind. Leliana was considering teaching Sten to play cards to pass the time, when the giant spoke up. "This Urn of Sacred Ashes. Tell me of this," he said.

"The Urn is a famous legend. But according to Genitivi's notes, it's more real than we thought," she began, then outlined what Lyra had learned from the journal. Sten was interested in the history behind the legend, and she told him everything she could remember.

As she spoke, the same sense of unease that had plagued her during her first visit to the Spoiled Princess began building in her stomach. A quick perusal of the patrons revealed much... just as before, they were hanging on their every word. _And all about the Urn, _she thought.

"So... that's what there is to know," she said at last.

Sten nodded thoughtfully. "It is an interesting legend. Thank you for telling me. And our companions - do you think they will find the Urn in Haven?"

A sharp intake of breath from behind her. Leliana's head snapped toward the sound. Three men rose and stalked from the tavern without a word, ignoring the innkeep, who had gone pale as a ghost.

"I hope so, Sten." Leliana smiled, but in her stomach, a nest of butterflies had begun a frantic dance. Just what were Alistair and Lyra walking into?

Taking a breath, she sipped her ale,, then pulled a deck of playing cards from her pouch.

.oOo.

They met Wynne on the docks an hour or so later, and that evening Bodahn packed up his wagon. They camped just outside of town. It was a quiet meal without Alistair's jokes, Morrigan's sarcasm and Zevran's flirtations, but after they finished Leliana played her lute. It wasn't long before everyone went to bed, tucked into their tents to sleep; all but Sten, who had the first watch.

A sound in the darkness woke Leliana from her light sleep. Instantly on alert, she sat up and listened, her heart speeding adrenaline through her veins. Wynne was curled up beside her, fast asleep. Leliana crept to the tent flap and drew it just barely aside, keeping most of her body away from the slit in the fabric.

Sten was still sitting at his watch, staring into the darkness. Leliana peered through the tent flap, trying to find the source of the sound, but she saw and heard nothing.

Letting the flap go, she was on the verge of chastising an active imagination when she heard a sharp _snap _just inches away.

The sound of canvas tearing filled Leliana's ears as she rolled from the tent's entrance, scrabbling for her daggers. Quick as a flash, she slipped beneath the fabric wall of the tent, rolling to her feet and snatching the hair of the man who had just tried to kill her.

Such speed had saved her life more than once. He made no sound as she slit his throat, then spun and kicked the sternum of the other assassin. Only a faint wheeze lifted as he fell, his life ended a heartbeat later in a spray of blood.

Crouching, Leliana froze, extending every sense. The night breathed all around her, peaceful and undisturbed. And though she _knew_ she'd been as silent as possible, there was no reason why Sten should not have at least turned around.

Her eyes narrowed as she crept close to him, her eyes adjusting in the moonlight. He'd been tied up in position. A touch to the pulse at his throat proved he was alive, but unconscious. Leliana frowned as she sat back on her heels, her eyes scanning the ground.

A round metal pot lay nearby, only a few inches in diameter. She picked it up and sniffed it, then dropped it again when the telltale fumes touched her nose. Faint nausea clenched her gut as she scented _saar-qamek._ Such a small amount wasn't enough to kill the qunari, but just the fact that the assassins had _had_ the gas was worrisome enough.

Cutting Sten's ropes, she eased his huge body to the ground, then scurried back to her tent and woke Wynne. After a moment of hasty whispering, Wynne rummaged in her pack and handed Leliana a bottle. Leliana hurried back out to Sten and poured a little of the contents into her hand, then held her hand over his nose and mouth.

He came awake in a moment, gagging and wretching. When he'd recovered, Leliana spoke to him in a hurried whisper. Back to the tent, telling Wynne what she intended. Wynne objected, but Leliana insisted.

Reluctant, the healer agreed, pressing a few healing poultices into her hands with a motherly air. Leliana dug into her pack, retrieving a formless pair of black boots made from the softest doeskin.

A few moments later, armed and armored and with charcoal smeared over her face, Leliana ghosted her way into the woods, tracking the assassins back to their base of operations.

Lyra had asked her once why her armor was black. Leliana had not told her the truth - that it was made specifically for creeping through the night. The metal bits were roughened so as not to shine, and each piece was muffled against sound with beaten lambswool. Made to fit her body like a glove, it had cost her three hundred sovereigns - a fortune in gold, but worth every copper. A black hood covered her bright red hair, as well, and she blinked as a bit of coal dust got in her eyes. She paused, squeezing them tightly shut, then dabbed gently with the corner of her hood. Grease was better, but it was no longer an item she carried. In a pinch, she made do.

The assassins had not been clever about their tracks. It was easy as lying to follow their trail through the woods, and Leliana was unsurprised when she found herself at the back entrance of the Spoiled Princess Inn. She eased up to the door and inspected the handle.

_It's not even locked,_ Leliana thought with disdain, then considered her approach. She recalled the men in the tavern - there had been three who left the inn suddenly, and at least three more in the tavern, not including the innkeeper. _Assume he's not involved_ -_ too nervous, and probably being made to harbor these parasites against his will_. The fact that the three men had left the tavern suggested they'd reported to a superior, which meant there was at least one other unaccounted for. Seven. Two dead at camp, which meant five leftover. She considered the size of the room she was about to enter, and the size of the inn, and the size of the hamlet, and figured a margin of error.

She knocked on the door, then pressed herself flat into the shadows.

After a moment, the door swung open, and a man peered out. "Vors? Brock?" he called into the darkness.

"They're dead," Leliana growled. Her dagger gleamed in the faint moonlight, a spray of blood painting the door as she cut his throat in a smooth, practiced motion. The man gurgled as he dropped.

_Here we go, _Leliana thought, leaving the body as she leapt lightly down the stairs. _Come and get me!_

She tore back into the woods, her soft-soled shoes melding with the bracken and silencing her footsteps. Shouts of alarm followed her. Choosing a secluded spot close to the treeline, Leliana melted into the shadows to wait.

One man ran past her, followed by another, and then one paused right by her hiding spot. With a merciless ease, she slipped up behind him and slit his throat, then dove silently behind another tree as he expired without a sound.

_Four...five..._ Leliana counted, and then they stopped coming. There were no more sounds from the inn, and so Leliana began to stalk her prey. It was almost too easy - one by one, she crept up behind them and slashed their throats, leaving them to bleed into the bracken. These were not trained assassins; it was far too easy to take them down.

When only one man remained, she crept up behind him and drove her foot into the back of his knee. He collapsed with a shout, dropping his sword and rolling over as he moaned and clutched his broken knee. She scooted the sword out of reach with her foot, knelt beside him and pressed the flat of her blade to his neck.

"Why did Vors and Brock try to kill myself and my companions?" she asked pleasantly.

His eyes widened with fear. "What... _are_ you?" he breathed in terror.

"Someone you will not see again," she replied in a cold voice. The blade deepened against his throat. "Tell me who _you_ are, and you will live longer."

"The Urn. You are after the Urn," he squeaked.

She nodded. "You are telling me things I already know. It does not bode well for you." The silvered edge dug deeper, a line of ruby crimsoning the blade. "You are not answering my question. Why did you try to kill us?"

"It must be protected," the man's voice trembled. "Andraste... demands it!"

This took Leliana aback. "Andraste? She is with the Maker. What care could she have for her earthly remains?"

"Andraste has been reborn, and she is more glorious than anything you can imagine." An unholy fervor lit his eyes. "She must be protected!"

"My companions have gone after the Urn. Are they in trouble?"

"They are already dead," the man whispered cruelly.

The shock and insult in his eyes was almost as funny as his words when she began to laugh. The idea of these untrained buffoons killing Alistair and Lyra was laughable.

"_That_'s not true. But I thank you for your information. I think I have enough to go on." Her blade sliced across his throat. Blood splashed into the grass, and the soft, wet sound of his breathing grew strained, then silenced.

Leliana took a few moments to search the bodies, but found nothing useful or informative. She checked the room in the inn and found it empty but for a small, carved wooden box, which contained a gold and silver medallion, set with amethyst and aquamarine. Slipping it into her pocket, she made her way back through the woods to the camp.

.oOo.

Morrigan crossed her arms as her doubtful eyes roamed the tiny hamlet laid out before them. "'Tis a quiet enough village. Looks can be deceiving, of course."

"Strange," Zevran said. "A perfect little village, no? Almost too perfect."

"Stay close," Lyra said. Kestrel gave a short bark, and she shushed him.

Haven spread out before them like a painting. Tiny cabins dotted the landscape, and lanterns hung from poles lining the road. The village was spread along the edges of the only path up the mountain, and at the top of the hill, Lyra could make out a leveled area that might serve as the town square. If she had to guess, she would lay money that the Chantry was up there.

They trudged up the path. The mountains had risen rapidly around them as they climbed the previous day, and the temperature had dropped alarmingly. The elevation was such that it couldn't have been much above freezing, although there was no snow. _Thank goodness it's summer_, she thought, rubbing her arms as she tugged her cloak around her.

Morrigan seemed unaffected by the weather, and was dressed as always in her skimpy blouse and leather skirt. Lyra assumed she must use magic to keep herself clean, because she wasn't sure she had ever seen Morrigan wash herself or any of her clothing. "Morrigan, do you use witchcraft to keep yourself warm?" she asked curiously.

"Of course," the witch responded.

"Isn't it a bit of a giveaway, then? You're practically naked. Anyone who looks at you will wonder why you're not dressed as we are. You're not blending in very well." Lyra said.

Morrigan gave a much put-upon sigh, then gave a wave of her hand. Suddenly she was cloaked as well.

"Impressive," Alistair commented, then reached out to tug on the cloth. His hand passed through it.

Morrigan jumped away as she snarled at him. "'Tis an illusion, dolt. Keep your hands to yourself."

Alistair snatched his hand away as if he'd been burned. Zevran snickered, seeming unbothered by the scowl Alistair fed him in return.

"Maker, it's cold here. Why's it so cold?" Alistair grumbled in a thick voice, then sneezed. "I think I'm catching something."

"No one is here," Zevran said, puzzled. "If this is a village, where are all the people?"

Lyra saw a few chickens in one yard, and an old, tired looking cow in another, but otherwise the village was as empty as the Archdemon's heart. Making a snap decision, she strode over to one of the doors and knocked.

As she had expected, there was no answer. They repeated this routine on up the path, but the houses were empty.

"Maybe everyone's up there?" Alistair suggested, and pointed to the top of the hill and the large building that dominated the plateau. They hurried up the path. Indeed, voices were raised in song within the building.

"Should we go in?" Alistair whispered.

"Why are you whispering? Of course we should," Lyra whispered back, then marched toward the door with Kestrel at her heels.

"She's whispering, too," Alistair pointed out, his voice sulky. At her back, Zevan chuckled.

Lyra ignored them and pushed open the doors.

The room was large and warm. A fire burned brightly in a huge stone hearth at the front of the room. Rows of benches led to a raised platform, where a man dressed in shining robes stood, leading the service. The benches were full of people. Men, women, children - here were the townspeople, all of them raising their voices in a song of simple praise. The hymn ended, and the leader raised his hands toward the heavens in a gesture of supplication.

"Let us pray, brothers and sisters," he said.

And then... Alistair sneezed.

The sound echoed through the silent church. As if that wasn't bad enough, his head rocked forward, banging into one of the posts with a loud _thud_. A sickly groan lifted as Alistair pressed his hand to his forehead, seeming unaware of the ruckus he'd just caused.

A sea of faces turned as one.

Lyra swore a silent oath of frustration. Not that she'd hoped for subtlety, barging into the building as she had, but their entrance was now more dramatic than she'd anticipated.

Forcing a smile to her face, she raised a hand in greeting. "Hello, everyone! Sorry to interrupt your meeting like this. We're looking for the town of Haven. Is this it?" she said in what she hoped was a cheerful, non-threatening manner.

"Yes, this is Haven, stranger," the leader replied. "Sit, be welcome. We are in the middle of service. When it is concluded, I will be happy to speak with you more." Smiling, the leader gestured to an empty row of seats in the very front of the room.

_The front row? Not a chance. _"Actually, we'll wait outside. I apologize for our rude interruption," Lyra said. She turned to hustle them out of the building.

"At least it was warm in there," Alistair sniffled once they were outside, his voice pathetic.

Without a word, Lyra pulled his handkerchief from her pouch and thrust it at him, annoyed at his inconvenient sinuses.

"Did you notice the carvings around the fireplace?" Morrigan said. "Dragons, sporting in flight. Beautiful, but certainly unusual."

"What do you think?" Lyra asked no one in particular, feeling uneasy.

"Something is very strange in this town," Zevran said. "If that was their Chantry, why was a man giving the service? Only women can be ordained as Revered Mothers. My flower, I am recalling your descriptions of Dragon Cults from last night. Does anyone else think it is strange that their fireplace should have carvings of dragons all around it? Exactly what did Brother Genitivi stumble upon?"

"There's only one way to find out," Lyra said. "We have to stay and talk with that man."

"Or, we could run," Alistair suggested in a nasal voice, mopping his nose and honking into the handkerchief.

"Or, we could talk with that man, and then tonight a very talented assassin could sneak into the village and look for clues about what is going on," Zevran said with a sly smile.

Lyra chewed the insides of her cheeks, then nodded. "I'll come with you."

"Me too," Alistair said thickly, then sneezed again, his entire body bowing.

"Not with that cold, you won't," Lyra told him. "You're loud enough normally, but now you're ridiculous."

"Hey, I'm sick," Alistair said petulantly. "Don't be mean."

Amusement curled the corners of Morrigan's mouth.

It was only a few minutes later that people began streaming from the building, staring at the Wardens' group as they fled down the mountain. All went straight to their homes, and if she had been close enough, Lyra was certain she would have heard bolts thrown with every door that clicked shut.

The robed man was the last to emerge. A welcoming smile lit his face as he gestured toward the sanctuary. "Please, friends, come inside and warm yourselves."

They followed him into the building, and Lyra looked around as they walked down the aisle between the benches. It was a simple square, constructed of unpainted wood and stone, which made the fantastic carvings around the fireplace all the more remarkable. Some of the carvings had been dyed with gentle, faded colors. The whorls and swirls brought the dragons to life in the still wood.

"Is this your Chantry?" Lyra asked, attempting friendly curiosity.

"In a manner of speaking," the man said softly. "I am Father Eirik, the leader of Haven's spiritual community, as well as the leader of the town. Why have you come to Haven?"

"Just passing through," Lyra lied cheerfully. "We're on our way to Orzammar, and we thought we might stop for supplies. Is there a general store in Haven?"

Father Eirik looked at her searchingly, and Lyra began to sweat under her cloak.

"Your name, child?" he asked gently.

"Margaret," she said, pulling the first name out of the air that she thought of. He smiled indulgently at her, and Lyra's heart sank.

"Margaret, I distinctly remember you saying 'We're looking for the town of Haven.' Now, why would you tell me you were going to Orzammar, if it's really Haven you seek?"

"I... have heard of Haven. In my travels. Your hospitality is without compare, so said my merchant friends. I was tempted to see if it was true," she said, and mentally damned herself for making such obvious mistakes.

"No merchants come to Haven. Come, 'Margaret.' Let us end this charade. You are here for the Urn."

"The Urn?" she said desperately.

"Do not persist in this foolish game, child. It will not help you." Eirik stretched his hands out toward her. Lyra dove away as lightning sprang from the priest's fingertips. She pulled her weapons from their sheaths as she came to her feet, and saw Eirik engulfed in flames. He screamed horribly as he fell to the ground, writhing as he burned. Morrigan slung her staff back into place with a cocky jaunt of her eyebrow.

"You're murderous," Alistair said, his eyes wide as he stared at the writhing ball of flame.

"The last time a mage tried to cook Lyra with lightning, you were grateful when I set him alight," Morrigan snarked. "Does it matter whether he dies on your blade or of my magic? Stop being so squeamish."

"Wicked witch."

"Idiot templar."

"Anyway," Alistair said, looking away from the smoldering corpse. "We didn't find out anything about who he was, or what they're doing here in Haven. The people here won't be happy to find their Revered Father turned to ashes."

"Let's be gone before they find out," Lyra said. She turned to go, but Zevran's voice stopped her.

"My flower, look at the fireplace..." he pointed.

Nervous, she glanced at it. "I don't see anything, Zevran. Just the dragons."

He chuckled, then strode over to the stonework and pressed a curve in one of the dragon's tails. A panel slid away, revealing a hidden room.

"Zev, how did you see that?" she asked, amazed.

He shrugged. "I see much, my flower. For instance, I see that your eyes are the same color as the ocean on a sunny day, and I see that Morrigan's skin is as smooth and perfect as Orlesian silk. And when I look at Alistair, I see-"

"No one wants to know what you see, Zevran," Alistair cut him off loudly. Not waiting to hear what would undoubtedly be a witty retort, he strode toward the secret room, sneezing once more.

"I was going to say 'that you have a cold'. Your mind is in the gutter, Alistair," Zevran called, then winked at Lyra.

"My, but he _is_ touchy, is he not?" Morrigan smirked as she followed Alistair, her illusory cloak vanished back into the ether.

Grinning, Lyra trailed after Zevran, doing her best to ignore the odor of burnt flesh as she ducked into the secret chamber.


	39. Genitivi's Rescue

**Chapter 38  
>Genitivi's Rescue<strong>

The night had deepened when Leliana returned from her perilous errand. Wynne gathered her into grateful arms, ushering her into the tent and helping her climb out of her armor. "I'm worried," Leliana told the mage as she scrubbed her face. "Whatever is going on with the Urn of Sacred Ashes, Lyra and Alistair may be walking into something bigger than we thought." Dipping up a last handful of water, she splashed her eyes, which stung from the coal dust.

When she'd finished, Wynne passed her a soft cloth, and then handed her a tiny vial. "Put these drops in your eyes. It will help with the stinging."

"Should we go after them?" Sten asked gruffly.

Leliana pursed her lips as she folded the towel in her hands, considering each angle. "Let's see if Bodahn is ready to leave Lake Calenhad in the morning, and maybe I can go ahead of the wagon to see if they ran into any trouble," she decided.

Wynne and Sten agreed, seeming glad to have someone making decisions. Leliana was grateful they weren't arguing with her about it. Wynne wasn't strong enough or fast enough to be able to travel quickly on foot, and it didn't make sense to leave the older woman alone to guard Bodahn's wagon.

The rest of the night passed with much tossing and turning, but Leliana managed to drop off a few hours before sunrise. She woke to the mouthwatering scent of newly baked bread. Wynne handed her a slice thick with butter, fresh from the inn.

Bodahn was indeed ready to leave, and as the wagon began to roll out, Leliana thought of something intriguing. "Wynne... how wide is Lake Calenhad? Do you think it's possible to row all the way to the other side?"

"I suppose so. Kinloch Hold is about halfway across, and it only takes half an hour or so to complete that trip." Suddenly Wynne caught the gist of Leliana's thoughts, and her eyes widened in understanding. "You plan on taking a boat across the lake, instead of the long road around! It's a brilliant idea, my girl. You will save much time. Go, child, and give them my love when you see them." She gripped Leliana's hand. Leliana pressed a kiss to Wynne's cheek, then took off running back toward the lake.

"Kester!" she called. "How do you feel about earning two sovereigns?"

A few hours later she was tracking through the forest on the other side of Lake Calenhad. Her shortcut had saved a full day of travel time, and she was soon scouting for signs of her companions. They'd done a fair job of covering their tracks, but Leliana had trained for years to pick up subtleties that most people missed.

She found their campsite early that afternoon. Nothing but a few ashes remained of their evening fire, but a faint boot print pointed the way toward Haven.

.oOo.

Alistair stalked into the secret room, his ears burning over Zevran's joke. He heard Lyra's wry chuckle and Morrigan's sassy comment, and between their laughter and his rapidly worsening cold he felt very sorry for himself indeed. He blew his nose again into the handkerchief as he looked around. Kestrel padded up beside him, keeping him quiet company.

The room was crammed with books and chests. Enormous, sparkling eggs were on display in every corner... he shuddered, wondering if they could possibly be the thing he suspected. True, not for nothing was the Age called 'Dragon', but even so.

A sneeze rocked his whole body forward. He groaned, his head stuffed with cotton.

Morrigan's voice sounded behind him. "Templar, chew on this." In her fingers was a gnarled piece of root. Fine white hairs grew from the surface, the flesh wrinkled and purple.

It looked horrid. Kestrel sniffed it with interest.

"What _is_ it?" he hemmed, not certain he could actually put such a thing in his mouth.

"Yaren root. 'Twill relieve your symptoms. Chew it raw, and hold the pieces under your tongue to allow your body to absorb the juices."

"I thought you didn't know healing?" he said hesitantly as he took it.

"I said I do not know healing _magic_. I also said I am well versed in poultices and poisons, which, believe it or not, are usually distilled from plants. Take it or not, as you like." Morrigan wandered to one of the bookshelves, selected a tome and began paging through it.

Lyra and Zevran entered the room as he contemplated. The assassin gave a low whistle as he spotted the eggs.

Bracing himself, Alistair shut his eyes and popped the root into his mouth. To his surprise, it did _not_ taste like the wrong end of a dog, so he chewed it to a pulp and held it under his tongue.

"Are those dragon eggs?" Zevran asked. They _were_ impressive; sparkling orbs perched on carved pedestals, gleaming softly in the dull firelight which filtered through the open panel in the wall.

"If they are, they will never hatch," Morrigan murmured, her nose still buried in her book. "There is no spark of life within them. They are merely pretty things now. A bit morbid, if you ask me."

"How 'ong sood I keep i' undah mah tongue?" Alistair asked.

Morrigan turned a page. "A bit longer, templar. Do not swallow it, unless you fancy the loo. When I tell you to, spit it out."

"'Kay," Alistair said.

Kestrel began scratching at the floor, and Zevran went to investigate. "_Bella flor_, look here," Zevran called. He flipped back the edge of an ornate rug, revealing a trap door with a brass ring attached to it. When he pulled it open, a stairway was revealed, descending into the darkness below.

"Anyone have a light?" Lyra asked.

Morrigan gestured silently. A ball of green glow appeared, hovering in the air before the tunnel. Lyra began to descend the steps, but Zevran's voice stopped her.

"Wait, my flower. Allow me to go first, after I shut the door to_ this_ room. There may be traps." He moved to the panel and flipped a hidden latch. "It may buy us a bit of time. I don't know if Haven has their own version of soldiers or templars, but _someone_ will undoubtedly discover Eirik sooner or later, and he will not be the only one who knows about this stairwell."

Lyra moved aside, and Zevran led them down the stairs into a dank tunnel carved into the stone of the mountain. It was frigid. Alistair pulled the trapdoor shut behind them. But for Morrigan's ethereal lamp, the darkness was complete.

The ball of light danced ahead of Zevran, casting weird shadows along the walls and throwing the shapes of the stones into stark relief. At Lyra's side, Kestrel whined. She hushed him, but the sound was tense. Alistair peered over Morrigan's shoulder, trying to see Lyra's form more clearly. The tunnel was narrow enough that it would have been difficult to shove past Morrigan to join Lyra.

After a few moments Morrigan told Alistair to rid himself of the yaren root. He did so with a loud _*hrrrk*_ing sound of phlegm being discharged.

Morrigan made a disgusted noise.

"Hey, my headache's better," Alistair said happily.

"_Please_ do not make that noise again. 'Tis absolutely vile," Morrigan shivered.

"You _told_ me to spit it out."

"Yes, but I assumed you would do so into your handkerchief."

"And you think _I'm_ disgusting? Why would I spit _that_ into a perfectly clean handkerchief?"

Lyra hushed them, the tension in her tone saying more than words. Alistair stood on tiptoe, frowning when he saw Lyra's fingers digging into Kestrel's scalp. The poor mabari voiced no protest, but whatever her issue was, she was taking it out on the poor dog.

.oOo.

Cold sweat drenched Lyra's palms as she watched the light weave over the walls. The rock wasn't closing in, was it?

No... her imagination was running wild. The cave was likely older than time, there was no reason why it should choose this moment to fall on top of them.

Breathe. In, then out. Chest expand, then contract. Again.

Of course, the secret room would _have_ to lead to a tunnel. Caves had never been a fondness of hers, not since she'd gotten trapped in a cave-in as a girl. She'd been with her family, and it had been only seconds before hands had appeared to dig her out. But the phobia was still there, nonetheless.

Working her fingers into Kestrel's fur, Lyra drew a deep breath. "Zev, shouldn't we have encountered something by now? I'm getting very nervous about the lack of... anything."

"I admit, it is curious, my flower," he murmured. "Shall we keep going?"

"What choice do we have?" she said unhappily. They crept along in the darkness, following Morrigan's ball of green light.

The faint, golden illumination of a torch threw black shadows around a bend in the tunnel, and Morrigan extinguished her witch light. Zevran signaled them all to be very quiet, then motioned for Lyra and the others to remain where they were. The assassin skulked forward, leaving them frozen in the dark.

The damp air was icy and thin, the smell of rock all around them. Lyra's hand brushed the chill, rough wall at her back, the cold seeping into her very bones. She hitched a breath, her eyes darting. _Close them_, she told herself sternly. _It's just like night time. Pretend you're somewhere else._

Gritting her teeth, Lyra sucked gouts of air through them, trying to think of anything but the fact that she could reach in any direction and touch stone. Trees. Trees were better. Higher, more open. Her feet could go anywhere in a tree, her hands reach and swing and climb and stretch...

Kestrel leaned on her leg, pushing her into the stone wall again.

Panic iced her veins as her breaths stuttered. There was nothing to be seen but rock, so Lyra kept her eyes screwed shut as she fought to control her breathing.

A scuffle at her back made her jump, but then she heard Alistair mutter and Morrigan's sarcastic response. Were they _really _going at it again?

Then she felt Alistair's comforting arms wrap around her. "Relax," he murmured. His lips brushed her neck. "I've got you."

"I'm fine," she muttered in return. But her relieved sigh only settled her more deeply into him as his breath warmed her neck. Loosing a tense breath, she snuggled close.

"Do you two never cease?"

Morrigan's snappish whisper brought a smile to Lyra's face.

"My friends, come quickly," Zevran's voice snaked back down the tunnel, warping with the beveled stone.

It was a short trip, only a few steps before they rounded the bend to see Zevran kneeling over a man who looked more dead than alive. His skin was waxy, his breathing shallow and labored. One leg twisted at an odd angle, and a few deep looking cuts were swollen and pussing. Kestrel sniffed him with concern, then whimpered at Lyra.

"I would wager that we have found Brother Genitivi," Zevran murmured.

"No matter who he is, he needs healing. We have to get him out of here," Lyra said.

The man groaned, his eyes dredging open. "Water," he whispered.

Lyra knelt and put her waterskin to his lips, helping him to drink. "If we help you, can you walk with us? We can take most of your weight."

"Leave him to die," Morrigan said derisively. "He is at the edge of death. That leg is gangrenous. Even Wynne cannot possibly bring him back."

"I won't leave him, Morrigan," Lyra flared.

The witch sniffed, and crossed her arms.

"I...can walk, if you...help me," the man said weakly. Alistair helped Lyra lift him to his feet.

Zevran was examining the flickering torch. "My friends, the passage continues in this direction. There is a breeze... I believe it lets out of the mountain," he said.

Angry voices echoed in the tunnel behind them.

"They found Eirik," Alistair said grimly.

"Let's move!" Lyra cried. With the man drooping beneath their shoulders, they hustled along the tunnel. Kestrel took off running as Zevran traipsed ahead of them, his daggers in his fists. Morrigan threw a blast of fire behind them, filling the tunnel with screams.

The man groaned, his head lolling. Lyra gritted her teeth, adjusted his weight on her shoulder and ran a bit faster.

The tunnel was brightening by degrees, and in a few moments they spilled out into the forest, the frosty air biting their tired lungs. Haven could be seen in the distance, the path a few hundred yards above them to the west.

Footsteps echoed from the passage. Lyra and Alistair eased the injured man onto the ground in an out-of-the-way place in preparation for a fight.

Morrigan sent another blast of fire shooting into the tunnel, drawing forth more sounds of agony. Lyra drew her weapons and waited near the mouth of the passage. Alistair stood opposite, his sword ready. Kestrel's muscles bunched as he prepared for a powerful lunge, accentuated with teeth and sharp claws.

The first man came tearing out of the tunnel. Lyra stuck her foot out to send him tumbling straight at Zevran. The elf wasted no movement, but sent the man on to Andraste with a sharp slice of his dagger. Alistair met the next with a sharp thrust. The poor soul collapsed, clutching his side and wailing. Numbers three and four came out swinging, and Lyra and Alistair met them head on, blades flashing in the dim afternoon sun. The men were quickly cut down, but more piled up behind them, and Lyra and Alistair found themselves bottlenecking a flow that would surely burst if not contained. Kestrel barked madly, jumping and dancing.

"Wardens, away!" Morrigan's voice called. Lyra and Alistair jumped back as a spume of ice engulfed the men. Lyra panted as she lowered her weapon, her heart racing with relief.

Morrigan sagged, then sank gracefully to the ground. Her dark head dropped between her knees, her staff inert upon the ground at her side. Kestrel padded up to her, then nudged her arm. "Desist, mongrel." Her voice was lost amidst her arms. Kestrel flopped to the ground beside her with an exasperated _whuff_.

"Are you alright, Morrigan?" Lyra asked. Only once before had she seen the witch so drained.

"Do not ask of me anything else today. I have nothing left," she mumbled.

Lyra nodded, recalling all of the magic Morrigan had used. Father Eirik, the witch light, the men in the tunnel - not to mention, her illusory cloak and her usual stamina-boosting tricks. "Thank you for saving us," she offered quietly, wishing she had more to offer than feeble words of thanks.

Alistair knelt beside the unknown man, giving him more water. He drank, then spoke weakly. "Thank you for your aid. I am Brother Genitivi."

"We thought you might be," Alistair said. "You're a popular fellow, you know. Half of Ferelden has been looking for you."

"I don't even know how long I was down there." Genitivi gave a hoarse cough.

Kneeling at his side, Lyra laid a hand upon his forehead. "He's burning up," she said. "We have to get him to Wynne."

Genitivi coughed again, then shook his head. "The Urn. It's close."

"If you die, none of us will find the Urn," Lyra said firmly. She looked around, then spotted several large downed branches on the forest floor. "Help me, Alistair."

He caught her idea quickly, and they began to construct a sledge of branches, rope from their packs, and blankets from their bedrolls.

"Bodahn and the others should be on their way to Orzammar by now," Lyra told him as they lashed branches together. "We should be able to find them before midnight."

"Are you sure your timing is right?" Alistair asked, concern in his eyes. "I think we might be a day ahead of them."

"No, I'm not sure..." Lyra sighed. "But what else can we do?"

"Think he'll live?" Alistair asked as he knotted the ropes.

"All we can do is hope and pray," she said. "He's lived so far."

When the sledge was ready, they helped Brother Genitivi onto it, settling his leg as comfortably as they could. Lyra tucked an extra blanket around him, being especially gentle with his wounds.

A dozen yards away, Morrigan still huddled upon the forest floor. Kestrel yipped, drawing their attention.

To Lyra's surprise, Alistair unfastened his cloak and walked toward the witch, then draped it around her shoulders.

The dark head snapped up, Morrigan's eyes flashing with suspicion, but Alistair was already walking back toward Lyra and did not see. The witch drew in on herself, then tugged the cloak a bit tighter around her.

Lyra felt a flush of annoyance, but tamped it down. It would do them little good if Morrigan weakened further. "Can you walk?" she called.

Morrigan lifted her head and nodded wearily before rising to her feet and leaning upon her staff.

"Then let's go." Lyra said. The party headed north, toward the pass above Lake Calenhad.

.oOo.

They stopped walking long after the moon had risen. Brother Genitivi had fallen into a deep sleep after drinking a bit more water and gnawing some bread and jerky. The rest of the party was dragging, muscles leaden with the strains of the past few days.

Lyra finally called a reluctant halt. Bodahn's wagon was nowhere in sight. They were simply farther ahead of schedule than she'd anticipated. A simple camp was all anyone had the energy for, a firepit cleared and bedrolls opened on the softest patches of ground they could find. Zevran offered to stand watch for a few hours so the others could sleep.

Lyra checked Brother Genitivi once more before she tucked herself into Alistair's blanket with him. As Genitivi had been wrapped in her bedroll, she was grateful to be able to share blankets and body heat with her fellow Warden.

Zevran woke Lyra near dawn, crawling into his own bedroll and falling asleep in minutes. Lyra checked on Genitivi, relieved to find the man still alive, if unchanged. The sun was cresting the horizon when a sudden noise in the brush brought Lyra to her feet and her sword from its scabbard. Ears pricked, she snuck in the direction of the noise.

The sight that met her eyes was... comical.

A tall blonde man wearing a mage's robes pushed his way through the underbrush, muttering to himself. His eyes were on the ground, and as he came closer Lyra heard him coo, "Come on, Ser Perceval. Don't stop now. Just a bit further, and then I'll carry you again."

Lyra's eyebrows furrowed, but then she saw a tiny grey cat mincing through the underbrush. The mage laughed as he scooped up the kitten and pressed his face into its fur. It batted at his nose. The mage fairly purred. "You are a _very_ ferocious knight, Ser Perceval. Yes you are, and such a lovely knight, as well."

Lyra bit her lip, swallowing the giggles that threatened. Clearing her throat, she stepped out of the bushes.

The mage's head snapped up, and in a single fluid movement, he deposited the kitten within his robes and whipped a staff from his back. "Stay where you are!"

Lyra lifted her hands to show she meant no harm. "I will not hurt you, mage, or your very ferocious knightly companion."

"Oh... you heard that, did you?" Looking sheepish, he lifted the kitten from within his robes and set it gently on the ground. "Ser Perceval is new to me. I got him just yesterday from a woman whose cat had kittened."

The note of pride in his voice made Lyra smile. His robes looked as though he'd slept in them, though, and his eyes were shadowed as though from lack of sleep. "Who are you? What are you doing here? You have no packs, no supplies... you can't be out for a pleasure jaunt."

One of his eyebrows rose. "You tell me, first. All alone in the woods, and I see nothing on _your _back but a pretty pointy-looking sword."

She nodded, deciding there was no harm in introducing herself. "My name is Lyra, and I'm a Grey Warden. I'm not alone; there's a few more in my party just over there, still asleep. We're trying to get back to our caravan on the other side of Lake Calenhad." The mage really looked harmless, so she made a snap decision. "Would you like some breakfast?"

The man's eyes got bigger, his adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. "You're really a Grey Warden? You're not traveling with any templars?"

"No templars. Well, Alistair _was_ training as a templar before he was conscripted, but he's a Warden now, like myself," she said.

The mage considered, and then held out his hand. "My name is Anders. I'm from the Circle, as you probably guessed, and I'm... escaping. From the Tower. Been on the run since yesterday, actually. I'd be grateful for a meal, and if you need any healing I can oblige as a repayment."

"Healing?" Lyra's heart leapt. "We do have a man with us who's in a bad way! If you can heal him I would be so grateful! Come with me, please." Gesturing, she led Anders the few dozen yards through the brush back to their camp.

Alistair was sitting up in his bedroll, palming the sleep from his eyes. "Lyra, you were supposed to wake me - _Who_ in Andraste's name-" Alistair leapt to his feet and scrabbled for his sword.

Lyra held out a calming hand. "It's alright, Alistair. This is Anders. He's a healer, and he's going to see to Brother Genitivi." Hoping this would be enough explanation, she led Anders to Genitivi's side and lifted his blanket. Anders examined him, then asked Lyra to cut up something to make bandages.

Alistair sidled up next to her as she was slicing up her old, threadbare knickers. His suspicious eyes were glued to Anders as he knelt to whisper in her ear. "I'm very confused at the moment, Lyra. It seems to me that you just... _found_ a healer in the woods, and now you're trusting him to heal Genitivi? Doesn't that strike you as very weird, not to mention very convenient?"

"He's an apostate, Alistair," she whispered in return. "He's making an escape from the Circle. We're not far from the tower - it isn't _that_ unlikely."

"An apostate?!" Alistair groaned. "What do we do after he's done? We can't spare the time to haul him back to the circle."

"Well... supposing we just let him go?" Lyra suggested.

"_What_? Lyra, we can't do that!"

"Why not? He seems nice enough. And he has the cutest little kitten."

Alistair sighed as he looked over at Anders. The mage's head was bent, and he had both hands centered over the scholar's leg. Pale blue radiance filtered from his fingers, the lines of pain on Genitivi's face easing.

"See?" Lyra whispered. "We'll feed him, he'll go on his way and Genitivi will live."

"I don't like it."

Lyra rolled her eyes as she stood, her bandages complete. "You're not a templar anymore, Alistair. Grey Wardens must do whatever is necessary to end the Blight. We _need_ Genitivi to live, and I don't care _who_ heals him." Ignoring whatever Alistair's response might have been, she marched over to Anders to give him the bandages.


	40. Return to Haven

**Chapter 39  
>Return to Haven<strong>

From her spot at the fire, Lyra dangled a twig before Ser Perceval's whiskers. The kitten was just so cute, she couldn't help but try and play with him. However, Ser Perceval was more interested in batting at poor Kestrel's nose than chasing Lyra's twig. The giant mabari yelped as the kitten pounced, locking all four paws around his muzzle. Taking pity on her dog, Lyra tugged the little cat off and brought him to her cheek for a cuddle.

Anders crammed the last of his bread and cheese in his mouth, then reached for a third helping. Morrigan leaned her head upon her hand, her golden eyes glued to the ravenous apostate. "You are so very hungry," she commented in a wondering voice. "Do they never feed you in your tower?"

"They feed me." Anders dropped a nugget of cheese into his mouth. "But food tastes better when you're free."

Alistair grumbled as he poked at the fire, then hefted a new log into the flames. "We only have what we carry, you know," he muttered in a dark voice.

"He's a complete love, Anders," Lyra cooed as she kissed Ser Perceval's tiny pink nose. He mewled softly, and bit at her nose with his needle-sharp kitten teeth.

"I know, I couldn't resist him. When I stopped at that farm yesterday and the woman showed me the kittens, I had to have one. Gave her my last five coppers for him," Anders said with a smile.

"Why would you spend your last coins on a kitten?" Alistair demanded. "You didn't think about... oh, I dunno. Food? Shelter? Where do you think you'll go from here, anyway?"

Anders stopped eating, his lip twisting as he looked at Alistair. "It doesn't matter where I go. They'll find me within a few hours. They always do."

"They?" Lyra asked.

"The templars. They have my phylactery, which means they can track me no matter where I go. I get out of the tower all the time, and they just find me and bring me back. I can't _really_ get away, no matter what I do." Anders turned back to his food, then added, "At least this time I have something to show for it. Ser Perceval will make a fine companion, and he can hunt the mice in my room."

"Why do you run then, if they just find you?" Lyra leaned forward and placed Ser Perceval upright on his feet. The kitten batted the tail of Anders' robes.

Anders popped his last bite of bread into his mouth and scooped up the little animal. "_Any_ taste of freedom is better than being locked up all the time. I've been in that tower since I was six years old. Do you know there are some mages who have never felt rain on their faces? They've never taken a moonlight stroll, or had a picnic on the beach. Some of them are so afraid to leave their rooms, they have panic attacks at the thought of going up on the roof, where we have our telescopes for star watching. It's wrong," he said sadly. "We're not allowed relationships, either. Love is discouraged... not that it stops us, not really. Even friendships aren't really tolerated, although 'professional associations' are allowed for the sake of getting things done. And the templars are the worst part. There's rampant abuse, beatings, even rape-"

"It's not like that," Alistair protested, sounding shocked.

Anders glared at him. "How do _you_ know, Warden? You may have trained as one, but you never took vows. You never lived the way I do. " Such bitterness filled Anders' voice as he rubbed the kitten's whiskers.

Alistair looked shaken. "Why doesn't someone put a stop to it, then? Why is it allowed to continue? The... abuse, you spoke of. If it happens, who regulates it? Who's responsible?"

"No one. The templars are a force without a stop-gap. Oh, sure, they're supposed to answer to the Chantry, and they line up neatly enough when the lyrium's being handed out, but the things that go on behind closed doors..." Anders looked down at the kitten in his lap, seeming unable to continue. At last he looked up, his eyes glinting. "You want to know why I do it? Because I'm _not_ willing to give in. I'm not willing _not_ to fight." He sighed. "For all the good my spitting into the wind does."

Lyra wasn't sure what to say. Alistair was staring down at his hands, his brows puckered and his shoulders hunched.

Morrigan, however, leaned forward with eager eyes. "Anders..." her voice was a purr. "I'm... not entirely certain, but I think I may have been... injured, last night. Will you consent to examine me?"

"Oh, yes, that's right," Lyra began. "I almost forgot because he seems better, but Alistair's got a cold-"

Morrigan cleared her throat, shooting Lyra a venomous glance."You can tend to the templar later. For now, I believe you should examine _me_, Anders." Her fingers trailed over the plunging neckline of her blouse, displaying the edge of one creamy breast.

The mage eyed Morrigan for a long moment, then cleared his throat as he got to his feet. "Yes. I can see you do need an examination. Would you prefer here, or shall we seek a more... private venue?"

Morrigan rose as well, her body graceful as a willow tree in a rainstorm. "Follow me." Hips swaying, she sauntered into the woods, with Anders close behind.

Lyra realized, then, that her jaw had fallen open. She turned to Alistair, whose eyes had gone wide as saucers. "Did they just-" she began.

Alistair shook his head as he stuck his hands over his ears. "Can't hear you, can't hear you, lalalala," Alistair sang, his eyes squeezed shut. "Can't know this. Can't think of this. Isn't happening."

Lyra sat back and began to laugh into her hands. She picked up Ser Perceval, resolving to keep him to herself for awhile.

.oOo.

"So, just rest today," Anders said. "Genitivi can't be moved, not until tomorrow. I did my best with his leg, but he may still lose the foot. Not only was the leg broken, but he's exhausted and dehydrated, and he's recovering from a nearly fatal case of hypothermia. I'd say you got to him in the nick of time."

"Anything else we should know?" Lyra asked as they walked away from the camp.

"Keep him quiet, and give him lots of water. And have your healer look at him again when you see her," Anders said.

Lyra shook his hand gratefully and pressed a few sovereigns into it. "Best of luck, Anders." She put her arms around him, and he returned her hug warmly.

"Maybe we'll meet again someday, Lyra of the Grey Wardens. I plan on traveling for a long time... or twenty more minutes, whichever lasts longer." Anders winked at her, his eyes sparkling. He took Ser Perceval from her hands and sauntered off into the woods, whistling a jaunty tune.

Lyra turned back to the camp, picking her way through the brush and sitting down at Alistair's side. Anders had patched him up after 'examining' Morrigan, and Alistair's cold was now a thing of the past.

The witch had not yet returned to the camp. Anders had said she'd claimed to need some time alone, and Lyra trusted that she would waltz in when she was ready. Zevran slept on, oblivious to all that had gone before.

"He's dead to the world." Lyra gestured toward the rogue. She scratched Kestrel's ears as he lay panting in the sun. The dog was happy.

"I had no idea..." Alistair muttered, rolling a rock between his palms in a nervous, brooding manner.

"No idea of what?" Lyra asked as she stretched.

"About the templars and the mages. Something should be done about it," he mumbled.

"Oh... Well, a lot of things _should_ be done, Alistair. But it takes people who want to do them, and have the power to make sure they get done. People who have the right ideas... people who care enough to try and change things." Lyra wound her fingers through his. He clasped her hand tightly, and she leaned her head upon his shoulder.

"_I_ would change things, if I had the power." He kneaded her hand gently between his fingers as he stared off into the distance.

"Like what?" Lyra asked, a smile touching her lips.

"Like, the templars. Did you know most of them are addicted to lyrium? The Chantry keeps them in check by supplying them with it... It's all such a sham. They were training me in the use of some of the powers - like draining magic - and I had just barely started taking lyrium when Duncan conscripted me. And now that I don't take any, I can _still do_ everything I was taught. No lyrium required. Most templars die by forty, because their bodies have been eaten away from the inside out. The Chantry keeps them addicted to keep them in line." Alistair's voice was angry.

Lyra opened her mouth to comment, but he cut her off.

"And the mages. It's awful that they get taken from their parents when they're children, and never know the world outside the tower. Take Connor and Isolde - she nearly turned her son into an abomination because she didn't want to give him up. Is there any reason why a trained mage couldn't come and teach Connor at Redcliffe? Why do they have to leave their parents? I know how I felt when I was conscripted into the Wardens... Like if somehow escaped the worst fate possible. The mages must feel just as trapped as I did. There _must_ be a better way. At the very least, there needs to be a system of checks and balances, to prevent things like what Anders was describing.

"I dunno... that one's a touchy subject." Alistair sighed. "Maybe I'm just feeling extra sorry for Anders at the moment. But still, it isn't right. I don't know how I would fix it, but I would try. And there are lots of other things, I'm sure... things that no one knows about. It can't be so difficult to change things, not for someone who has the power."

Lyra squeezed his hand as he spoke. His simple words held so much power, such potential. It was encouraging to see Alistair embrace the idea of leadership. Much as she didn't want to think about it, with Ferelden's political situation, he had a good chance of landing on the throne. Avoiding the reality of that might only cause him hardship later on...it was good that he was thinking of it. There was no guarantee he would end up king, but there was go guarantee he wouldn't, either.

Of course, such an outcome would likely mean the end of their relationship.

It was what she'd hoped to avoid. Her heart panged at the thought of losing Alistair to the throne, her throat tightening as her eyes misted. But if Ferelden gained a leader who could rally the country and make it stronger, wasn't that worth any price?

Lyra was a Cousland; for her, duty would always come first and foremost. The kingdom's stability was worth more than her own personal happiness. She knew this.

But it didn't make it hurt any less.

_We have now_, she thought. _Now is all I need. _Alistair continued to speak, and she listened, enjoying the closeness and the feel of his large, strong hands tangled with hers.

They spent the rest of the day in quiet conversation. Brother Genitivi woke from time to time, and Lyra gave him plenty of water and strips of jerky, bread and cheese. He was very anxious to be off again and seek out the Urn, but Lyra and Alistair gently insisted that he take the day to rest, as Anders had advised. Morrigan returned in the early afternoon, with not a word to say about her tryst with Anders. Zevran woke in the early afternoon, surprised to find the day had vanished as he slept. He offered to take the first two shifts at evening guard, and the evening passed without incident. When the sun rose, they ate a quick breakfast and prepared to leave.

Genitivi was almost completely healed, and could hobble on his own with the aid of a stout branch used as a walking stick. He was eager to share everything he'd learned about the Urn of Sacred Ashes, and he filled their ears as they walked, bubbling over with excitement. Lyra gave him his journal, and told him about finding the false Weylon in his home in Denerim. The news damped his spirits considerably.

"I will make certain his sacrifice is not in vain," the scholar vowed. "Once we meet your friends, we should set out for the temple right away. I think I have everything figured out that we'll need to know."

"Works for me," Alistair said. "I'm really worried about Eamon. If we can cure him..." he fell silent.

They walked until late afternoon, when without warning, Kestrel began barking and took off in a sprint down the path.

"What's he on about?" Alistair asked. Lyra shrugged, mystified.

They found out a few minutes later, however, when Bodahn's wagon came rumbling up the path with Kestrel cavorting at its side.

"Didn't think we'd see you so soon," Bodahn called cheerfully. Wynne waved from the front seat where she was seated next to Sandal, and then her smile faded as she looked at each of them in turn. "Lyra, where is Leliana?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" Lyra asked, the grin vanishing from her face.

"She left this morning to look for you... We had some trouble in our camp last night, and she wanted to be sure you hadn't run into difficulty." Wynne's brows creased.

"Why would Leliana coming looking for us? And how could she have gotten here before you?" Alistair questioned.

"What kind of trouble in camp?" Lyra asked, concerned.

"Leliana had the boatman take her across Lake Calenhad early this morning. She figured it would put her close to your path into Haven. The trouble we had in camp last night - there were worshipers of Andraste who tried to kill us in the name of protecting the Urn of Sacred Ashes. Leliana was worried you might have gotten into trouble you weren't expecting, and so she came after you," Wynne explained. "Blessed Maker, what could have happened to her, if she isn't with you?" The mage wrung her hands.

Lyra looked at Alistair in alarm.

"She probably tracked us to Haven," Alistair said. "It's just a mix-up. We'll go after her as soon as Wynne checks Brother Genitivi. We'll probably meet her on the road. Don't worry. Leliana is a capable woman."

"Capable, yes... but then why didn't she meet up with us? Alistair, we have to hurry," Lyra said. "And Wynne... what do you mean, worshipers of Andraste tried to kill you?"

The mage filled her in as they traveled. Lyra was grateful for the day of enforced rest as she, Alistair, and Wynne hurried back toward Haven with Brother Genitivi in tow. Kestrel sniffed the path, seeking any sign of Leliana. Wynne had refused to stay behind, pointing out that if Leliana needed healing, she had to be there. Brother Genitivi was doing his best to keep up but slowing them down all the same. Considering everything he'd been through, he was really moving quite well, but Lyra bit her lip in frustration...why had she allowed the man to come along? The pit of her stomach iced over as she thought of what might have prevented Leliana from meeting up with them.

The sun was throwing rays of sharp, golden light into the trees when the small party began to ascend the Frostback Mountains. Kestrel whined and pawed the ground when they approached the original campsite where Lyra had read aloud from Genitivi's journal.

"Was she here, boy?" Lyra asked. Kestrel barked an affirmative and pressed his nose to the ground again. He led them onward, tracing the same path they'd taken toward Haven. "She was tracking us," Lyra muttered to no one in particular.

A few more hours' walk brought them within striking distance of Haven. Kestrel whined and pointed his nose at a tree, and Lyra knelt to examine it. Dried blood stained the bark, along with a few red hairs shining in the moonlight. Lyra's heart plummeted into her shoes. "She's been hurt," Lyra said in a grim voice.

The others clustered around. "Head injury," Alistair said, his brow furrowed. "She _could_ have fallen against the trunk."

"Leliana doesn't just _fall_," Lyra said. "Her balance is too good."

"It's only a few hours old. Let's go," Alistair said.

Lyra nodded, but her heart was heavy as they continued up the slope and into the little town of Haven.


	41. Here There Be Dragons

**Chapter 40  
>Here There Be Dragons<strong>

Dark, ominous clouds gathered over the town, the midnight moon shedding scant light to guide them. Alistair's armor clanked as they crept toward Haven. Genitivi wheezed as he sought to catch his breath, leaning heavily upon his staff. Wynne, too, was breathing hard, though she made no mention or show of it, just slanted against a tree as she waited Lyra's instructions.

They were a ragtag group. As they traveled, Lyra had been trying to decide which approach into Haven would be better; stealth, or a brazen charge. As she looked at her worn companions, she realized her decision had been made for her.

Alistair clanked again, and she winced at the noise. "Alistair, please..."

He glanced at her in question. She swallowed the guilt that rose, knowing he could hardly help how loud his armor was. "Um... stay quiet?" she murmured at last.

"I won't sneeze this time, I promise," he shot back in a sarcastic whisper.

She sighed, then reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. He quirked his mouth in reluctant forgiveness.

Soft thunder echoed in the distance, the scent of ice drifting on the wind. "Kestrel," she called softly. The dog padded over. "We have to be very, very quiet, boy," she whispered. He swiped her nose with a kiss as she ruffled his neck. She looked next to Wynne and Genitivi. "Brother..." she began, but he cut her off.

"I know, my dear. I fear I would be less than useless in a fight. I will remain here. Please be careful," he said.

She gave him a grateful smile. "We'll do our best. Hopefully we'll be back soon with Leliana." Lyra watched him trundle off into the forest, hoping he would find somewhere comfortable to rest.

"Wait - listen. Do you hear it?" Alistair whispered.

Strange, ululating cries came from the top of the hill, underscored by the soft rhythm of chanting. Like muted thunder, a steady drumbeat echoed faintly through the darkness.

"Sound like everyone's up there. That makes it easier," Alistair whispered, a touch louder this time.

Lyra gestured, leading them on up the hill. Aside from the drums and Alistair's armor, the only other sound was the dry skittering of dead leaves as they danced on the wind. The chanting and crying grew louder as they climbed, and the wind rose to crazy heights. A fantastic storm was in the works, and Lyra didn't relish the idea of being out in it. Thunder rumbled, closer this time.

They crested the hill, finding a well-hidden spot in the bushes. Lightning flashed, illuminating one of the strangest gatherings Lyra had ever seen.

Haven's citizens had shucked their traditional clothing and decked themselves in animal skins. As if this wasn't barbaric enough, their bodies had been coated with a foul-smelling mud. Lyra wrinkled her nose as she recognized the odor...not mud, or not _only_ mud. Brown, though. Definitely brown, and very messy. Men, women and children alike danced and chanted, some of them falling to their knees and calling out in an arcane language.

"What is the Maker's name is going on here?" Wynne whispered. Lyra could only shake her head, as mystified as the others.

"What...is _smeared_...all over them? Ugh, it smells like...like.." Alistair wrinkled his nose.

"I think it's exactly what it smells like," Lyra muttered.

Alistair gagged. "Why would they_ do _that?"

Lyra bit her lip, considering the tome they'd read about dragon cults. A frightening idea clicked in her brain. "Why does an animal roll in the dung of another animal?" she whispered.

Dawning comprehension bled over Alistair's features.

The drums stopped with a sudden _crash_. As one, the cultists dropped, prostrate upon their hands and knees. A young man climbed the chantry steps, his hands thrown up in plea.

"This is bad, Lyra...this is really, _really_ bad," Alistair said. She ignored him, her focus given to the ritual before them.

"Beloved Andraste!" the young priest cried. "We beg that you will strike down the heathens who have murdered your loyal priest, Father Eirik! Andraste, see that justice is done, and bring glory to your loyal worshipers and fear to the hearts of your enemies!"

The cultists moaned and writhed, their voices an eerie accompaniment to the priest's words. Alistair's head turned, his ruddy face pale and his mouth agape. Lyra returned his wide-eyed gaze with one of her own, her pulse racing. "They're talking about _us_," he whispered.

"I know they are!"

"Andraste! To speed your wrath and fuel your fire, we bring a sacrifice, as is your rightful demand." The priest motioned, and another worshiper emerged from the Chantry, carrying a limp body. It was a young woman, covered with more skins and more dung. Her head lolled, her fiery hair catching the moonlight

"Leliana!" Lyra squeaked. She reached for Alistair, feeling wild. "What do we do, Wynne?"

The healer shook her head, her white skin chalky. "I don't know... I just don't know."

Leliana was placed on the ground in front of the young priest. Lightning exploded from the sky, setting a nearby tree aflame. The wind whipped around them, freezing their cheeks.

From his robes, the priest pulled an ornate horn. The cultists rose from the ground and began a sedate walk down the mountain path. Lyra and the others ducked low in the bushes as the villagers went by, her heart hammering as she prayed that they wouldn't be spotted. Within moments, the Chantry yard was void of life but for Leliana's limp form and the young priest holding the curved horn.

The priest pulled a jagged knife from his robes, and raised it high. "Andraste, in your name, accept this blood sacrifice."

Lyra's fear and indecision evaporated. She stepped from the bushes and drew her sword. "You'll not touch her!"

The priest's eyes widened as he dropped the knife, put the horn to his lips and blew a blast that echoed through the mountains. It was the last sound he ever made, though his mouth gaped as Lyra's blade plunged through his gut.

She hardly cared that she'd killed him, did not watch as he crumpled when she freed her sword. He was dead; he could no longer hurt her friend. Kneeling at the bard's side, she took Leliana's hand as Wynne crouched beside her. The wind plastered the healer's robes against her spare frame.

"We have to get out of this storm!" Wynne cried in Lyra's ear.

Alistair gathered Leliana up in his arms. "The Chantry," he ordered them.

They were through the doors a moment later. Three men knelt on the floor beside the fireplace, praying and chanting in an arcane tongue. The sound of the door drew their focus, steely anger replacing the quiet reverence on their faces. "The heathens have returned, my brothers..." one of them whispered, his eyes alight with holy fire. "Kill them!"

Lyra pulled her blades and sprinted toward them, murder in her heart and a battle cry on her lips. She parried a wild swing and spun away from another sword thrust, then sank her flaming blade through the ribs of one of the priests. He hardly seemed to feel it, his eyes glowing with rage as his sword whistled through the air. She ducked, then straightened and planted her foot in his side, kick-pushing him away. Dagger and sword crossed to block a vicious downstroke by another priest.

Somewhere nearby she heard Alistair shouting, then the sound of his shield being put to good use. She risked a glance away, just in time to see him drop one of the priests with a blow to the temple.

The pressure on her arms made her tremble, and Lyra grit her teeth as she held her attacker at bay. His eyes gleamed with holy fervor, his strength inhuman. She gasped, her knees shaking as she pushed back, fighting not to fall to her knees.

Then he was gone, a wild snarl announcing Kestrel's arrival. The man's yell of surprise was cut off as Kestrel's teeth clamped around his windpipe.

Lyra did not look. Hearing such a death was bad enough. Squeamish she might not be, but her stomach clenched as she heard her mabari tear the priest's throat out.

Then Alistair was there, his arms a welcome relief. "Lyra..." His lips brushed her temple as he scolded her.

She never got to answer. The front wall of the Chantry exploded in flames, and the very earth shook with the roar of some terrible beast.

"Maker, help us," Lyra gasped.

Alistair ran to Leliana and scooped her up again. "Into the secret room, quick!"

Quick they were. Lyra looked back, her heart icing at the sight of a gargantuan claw shredding the chantry's door like paper. Terror flooded her veins, the sight so unbelievable that it _had_ to be real. She was barely aware of Alistair's terse instructions to Wynne, who pressed the button in the dragon's tail to reveal the secret passage. They darted through the door, and then Lyra ran to the rug, flipped it back and threw the trapdoor open. Had anyone else seen? Did anyone else realize what was coming for them?

"Look - Leliana's pack, and her armor," Wynne called.

Alistair said, "Bring it."

Perhaps they hadn't seen it. _Probably better,_ Lyra thought numbly as she hustled behind the others, following them down the steps to the fireproof safety of stone.

It was dark in the tunnel. Wynne handed Lyra her burden and pulled her staff from her back, murmuring softly. A golden glow filled the air as the mage took the lead, casting her light around.

"Keep going, Wynne - there's a sort of room farther along," Lyra instructed her. They hurried down the passage, coming to the place where they had found Genitivi. Alistair laid Leliana on the damp stone, and Wynne knelt beside her.

"She's not badly hurt," Wynne told them after several tense minutes. "A cut on the back of her head, and she's been drugged, but otherwise she'll be just fine."

It was too much. Lyra dissolved, burying her face in Alistair's neck as she shook with fear and tears and relief. Kestrel pressed against her leg as Alistair held her tightly, murmuring reassurances.

It was a moment before she gathered herself back together. "I'm sorry." Lyra whispered.

Alistair began to laugh. "Yes, you big baby, you should be. Crying over this? Finding your best friend being sacrificed by mad cultists and then nearly getting killed by a dragon? Hardly worth crying over," he teased.

It was so absurd, she laughed with him as he brushed the tears from her eyes. She kissed Alistair's cheek and hugged him tighter. He was so _strong_, so good. "I love you," she whispered.

He touched his forehead to hers, his amber eyes soft and affectionate. "And I love you... always," he whispered back. "Don't cry... we're fine. She's fine."

"I know," Lyra whispered.

There was no good reason to let go of each other, so they held on while Wynne ministered to Leliana. At last Wynne told them she could do no more. "Think it's safe to fetch Genitivi?" Alistair asked.

"I suppose you could try," Lyra said at last. "But don't go out there if you hear the beast."

"Don't worry. I don't feel like dying today." Alistair squeezed her fingers, then jogged off down the tunnel toward the forest.

It was a tense bit of time before he returned with the clergyman in tow, but Lyra's stomach unclenched to see him arrive at last, dripping and shivering. Wynne conjured a smokeless fire for warmth, and they settled down to wait.

Lyra had slipped into a doze when she heard a low, lilting voice. An Orlesian voice.

It took no time at all to wake up. "Leliana!"

The bard's gentle smile was all the reassurance Lyra needed, and she found herself crying once more as Leliana embraced her. "Oh, _chère_, no tears. I am fine."

"New perfume?" Alistair asked with a grin.

Leliana made a disgusted noise. "I don't know _what_ I'm wearing, but it isn't from Orlais," she said. She cleaned up as best as she could, then dressed in her armor again. They held a hurried conference, trying to decide what their next move should be.

"I don't think the cultists will be coming out of their homes tonight...not with the storm, and the dragon. Do you think _that_'s why the priest blew that horn? To summon it?" Alistair wondered.

"Possibly." Lyra frowned. "If only I'd gotten to him quicker..."

"Well, all's well that ends well," Alistair said. "But we can't go back out there. It's sleeting, and lightning. We don't even have tents."

"So I guess we stay here, then?" Lyra asked.

With warmth in mind, they assembled a common bed, piling the four bedrolls together. Dinner was nothing more than jerky and water, though they were able to warm it a bit over Wynne's fire. Lyra was growing heartily sick of camp food, and decided that if a demon should happen to appear to her in the Fade and offer her a hot meal and a hot bath, she'd gladly become an abomination in trade.

The night was uncomfortable, but nothing disturbed them. When they woke in the morning the storm had ended, although the clouds lingered and darkened the sullen sky.

Lyra shivered in her armor and snuggled closer into Alistair. Leliana was on his other side, and Wynne was next to Lyra. Brother Genetivi had the other end. Wynne would not have been able to rest and maintain her fire, so they'd huddled together like a pile of puppies. Kestrel was huddled beneath the blankets, warming everyone's feet like a hot water bottle.

"Maker, it's cold!" Alistair said.

"_You're_ cold? You're in the middle - how did _you_ manage to get the warmest spot?" Lyra snarked.

Alistair grinned. "Good looks and charm. It's how I get most things," he said with a jaunty smile. She poked him in the ribs, and were it not for the others huddled in so close, a tickle war might have broken out.

"Too...early..." Leliana grumbled and pulled the corner of Alistair's cloak over her face. But Brother Genitivi sat up and yawned, then rubbed his face and peered around in excitement. "Today, we find the Urn," he announced. "The temple isn't far from here. They took me there, once, but the dragon was there and we had to leave again."

"The dragon can get into the temple?" Alistair groaned. "Greeaaaat. And what do we do if it's there today?"

"Kill it?" Lyra suggested, feeling a little silly.

"Ha. Ha. It is to laugh."

"Look, aren't we supposed to kill the Archdemon?" Lyra said. "What's _that_ plan going to be? We'll be facing a dragon eventually."

"Yes, but I don't have my dragon-slaying boots with me on this trip. And my hair isn't right." Alistair complained. "It takes very particular hair to slay a dragon."

"Alistair, your hair is fine," Wynne said from the other side of Lyra. "The attention you pay your hair...if your attraction to Lyra wasn't so obvious, I would wonder."

"What? Wonder what?" Alistair asked. Leliana began to giggle.

"Why are you laughing? What's wrong with being concerned about my hair?" Alistair asked indignantly.

Lyra tousled his sleep-sodden head. "Nothing you need to worry about, my handsome, _manly_ Grey Warden," she said. "Let's just see what happens when we get there. Maybe we'll be lucky and the dragon won't be in the temple."

"I dunno...luck hasn't smiled on us yet," Alistair muttered.

Brother Genitivi lead them through the woods, and as they walked Leliana filled them in on what had happened in Lake Calenhad. Alistair found a tree that had bright orange, tomato-like fruits hanging from it.

"I know these fruits!" Leliana cried in recognition. "Lady Cecilie had such a tree in her garden. They're edible."

"I'm surprised anything grows in this cold," Lyra remarked, and Leliana told her they were normally available in late fall and early winter. They picked lots, and ate as they walked.

Genitivi was beside himself with excitement, and an hour past sunrise they came to a small valley dusted with snow, tucked away between two soaring peaks of the Frostback Mountains. A small stone edifice was nestled into the cleft between the mountains. Even the birds were quiet here... it was peaceful, lovely. An appropriate resting place for the Bride of the Maker.

"The temple of Andraste's Ashes," Genitivi said, awe in his scholarly voice. He began the descent into the valley, then strode eagerly up the stairs and to the stone door, Lyra and her companions trailing behind.

But he was frowning when they got there. "I forgot," he murmured, his eyes trained on the door. "There's a key that the cultists used."

Lyra pulled her lockpick from her belt.

"No no, that won't work, my dear. This is no ordinary lock. The key is a sort of medallion, made of precious metals and gems, and must be pressed here, see?" Genitivi gestured to a strangely shaped indentation.

"And I suppose you don't have it?" Alistair asked, his voice wry.

Lyra was dumbfounded. Why hadn't he mentioned this key before? Why think of it now, when they were miles from anywhere the key could be? Going back could cost them hours at best. She bit her lips hard to keep her anger from tumbling out.

Leliana reached into her pouch. "A medallion, you say? This isn't it... is it?" In her fingers was a sparkling brooch-like object, crusted with purple and teal stones.

Genitivi's eyes widened, a gladsome smile brightening his face. "Yes! This is it!" He pressed it into the depression in the stone, and turned it ninety-degrees to the right. Enormous, echoing tumblers slid free, and then the scholar pushed the doors open.

"How did _you_ come to have that?" Lyra whispered to Leliana.

"Dumb luck, I guess," Leliana whispered back. "The assassins at Lake Calenhad had it."

"Don't use our luck on that - save some for the dragon," Alistair whispered.

The temple spread out before them, looking far deeper and wider than the outside walls should have allowed.

"It's built into the mountain," Genitivi explained at the amazement on their faces. "The tunnels extend for miles, or so I was told by the cultists."

They made their way deeper into the temple, their eyes roaming the cavern. It was _old_... walls crumbling, pillars toppled, the roots from ancient trees pushing through the stone floor. As they went deeper into the temple and entered a rough-hewn tunnel, Lyra thought she could hear scrabbling noises in the walls, and mentioned it to the others. They listened as well, but couldn't hear anything, and so she wrote it off as an overactive imagination.

"Wait. I definitely heard that," Alistair said, and they stopped again to listen.

Lyra hardly had time to answer before the source of the sound came into view. Three reptilian creatures with long necks and stubbs of vestigial wings came trotting around a corner. They weren't much larger than mabari. Kestrel barked, and they hissed wickedly in response, but didn't fight back and died easily under their blades. Lyra almost felt badly for killing them outright.

When she wondered about this, Brother Genitivi informed her that the cultists cared for the dragon's young, and so it was natural that they might have grown to trust the sight of humans. "The drakes will not be so tame," Genitivi added thoughtfully.

"Drakes? What are _those_?" Alistair said.

"Small male dragons."

"_How_ small?"

"The size of a plowhorse," Genitivi said absently, absorbed by a carving on the wall. "Look at this! This is simply incredible. What I wouldn't give for vellum and charcoal right now..."

"Brother, we shouldn't linger," Lyra said.

Reluctantly, he turned away from the wall carving. "A wealth of knowledge... but you are right, the true goal is ahead. I will try to keep my mind on our task," Genitivi told them.

"Small. The size of a plowhorse," Alistair muttered. "Let's not run into any of them, please."

The tunnels seemed never-ending, and Lyra wondered exactly how deep into the mountain they were traveling. They came to a large cavern, where cages of goats were lined up. The room had a barn-like smell, and something else that Lyra recognized. "That's what the cultists had smeared on their bodies last night," she said, pointing to large piles of scat.

"Don't remind me," Leliana said. "I _still_ smell like it."

"It's no bad notion..." Lyra said thoughtfully. "Think we should do it?"

"Maybe, if it'll keep the dragon from eating us due to the nasty smell," Alistair joked.

"I'm serious," Lyra said. She strode forward and scooped up a pile of the droppings and began to rub it into her armor, trying not to breathe the noxious odor. "Come on, everyone. Rub it on yourselves," she called.

No one moved, and she looked back at them indignantly.

"I can't believe you're actually doing that," Alistair said after a moment. "Is your smeller broken?"

"No, but I'll break yours if you don't stop joking about this and be sensible," she retorted. A moment later, she heard him sigh, then he joined her in smearing himself with dragon filth. Kestrel had no such reservations. He rolled in the piles, then shook, sending bits flying and causing everyone to shriek in dismay. The others slowly followed suit, and Wynne bemoaned the cleanliness of her robes.

"I'll wash it all later, everyone," Lyra said.

"Everything?" Alistair teased.

"Well, I already do _your_ laundry, why not add everyone else's?" she shot back at him. He dolloped dirt on her nose.

"That's disgusting," she complained, then threw some at him.

"Lyra, I love you. You know that, right?" he said.

"I love you too, Alistair," she said. "Why?"

"Because I was going to say, if you didn't know it before, you ought to _now. _It isn't every girl I'd coat myself in poo for. Talk about a dirty joke," he said, and Lyra began to giggle in spite of herself.

They finished anointing themselves, and explored the chamber to find it led off in two directions. "What do you think, Brother?" Lyra asked. Genitivi pursed his lips, then shrugged.

Lyra chose one at random, and they followed it down into the mountain.


	42. Fighting Spirit

**Chapter 41**  
><strong>Fighting Spirit<strong>

They'd barely made the passage's first turn when the skitter-clack of claws on stone put them on alert. "Sounds like trouble," Alistair muttered. Lyra drew her sword grimly, wondering if they'd covered themselves in feces for nothing. She'd never hear the end of it.

"We might get by," she whispered as the sounds came closer. "Stay calm, but be ready."

Brother Genitivi pressed himself against a wall, his eyes wide. Wynne readied her staff, and Alistair pulled his blade, his jaw set with tension.

It was only seconds before three enormous - 'small' - dragons came padding around the bend, relaxed as house pets. They sniffed the air as Lyra's heart hammered. Scaled heads bobbed, beady eyes fixing on shiny metal.

"Hold," Lyra gritted as one of the drakes weaved toward Alistair. Was it just her imagination, or could she actually see a droplet of sweat rolling down his cheek?

At her side, Kestrel growled, then leaped.

"No!" she cried.

It was too late. Kestrel's teeth flashed, and then he was knocked aside by a lazy foreclaw. The canine shriek of pain was more than enough to make Lyra forget her hope of scooting by unscathed. Dashing in, she thrust her blade at the drake, looking frantically for weak points as she parried the deadly claws. The overgrown lizard raised itself up in preparation for a lunge forward, giving Lyra a glimpse of its underbelly. Softer, but still damned tough. She leapt back, avoiding teeth.

The second drake bobbed forward and raised up on its hind legs, spreading its wings and seeming to double in size. Alistair snapped up his shield in an automatic block as the creature roared. His sword flashed out a heartbeat later, and a tinny, screeching sound echoed in the cavern as the blade slid along the polished scales.

Kestrel danced back and forth, drawing the first drake's attention. Lyra's heart leapt in triumph as she spotted what she'd been seeking: a softening in the leaf-shaped scales nestled beneath the drake's forearms. "Under their arms!" she called to her companions as she lunged and stabbed. A gout of blood streamed from the dragonet's side, and the creature fell back with a pained hiss.

"Got it!" Alistair yelled in return, his blade catching the light. From the corner of her eye Lyra watched him attack his drake, even as the monster dodged out of reach.

The third drake circled Wynne and Leliana. Without warning, the bard tumbled forward and slashed a long rent upward into the drake's underbelly. A pile of intestines came sliding out as the drake screeched with agony. Dumbstruck, Lyra watched as Leliana lost her balance and scrabbled madly on her hands and knees out from under the monster.

The drake staggered, tangling its feet in its own innards. "Look out!" Leliana's voice cried.

Lyra's attention snapped back toward her drake. The creature's mouth gleamed with saliva as razor-teeth snapped shut over her arm.

White-hot knives slammed through her, her scream ear-splitting in the close space. Her sword-arm was still free, and Lyra swung at the drake's elongated neck. To her shock, she cleaved right through it.

The headless monstrosity collapsed. Lyra fell to her knees, her arm still stapled by three-inch fangs. The damned head was heavy, the weight of it keeping her on the ground lest she tear her arm even more.

A blast of earth and rock flew across the cavern, knocking the last drake off balance. The point of Alistair's sword drove through the beady eye, killing it instantly as he cleaved into its brain.

A moment of silence held sway as the fighters listened, weapons held at the ready. Lyra's teeth dug into her lower lip as she fought for silence, tears streaming down her cheeks. The pain was receding, a numbness seeping in. She swallowed, feeling woozy.

Gentle touches on her arm opened her eyes once more. "Alistair, you'll have to open the jaws," Wynne murmured, and from behind her, Leliana circled protective arms around her neck. Lyra squeezed her eyes shut and leaned her head against Leliana's chest as the bard murmured soothing words. "Maker," Alistair muttered, then "One, two-"

The crack of the jaws opening made Lyra jump. The numbness hadn't spread enough to stop the sickening feeling of the fangs sliding free of her flesh. Stomach roiling, Lyra squeezed her eyes tighter as Leliana rocked her, _shhhh_ing her like a child. But as soon as the devil teeth were gone, feeling began to seep back. Muscles uncoiling, Lyra opened her eyes, then shuddered to see and feel the warm, red blood flowing from twin gouges in her arm.

She'd never shied away from blood, but now the world spun as she watched herself bleed. Sucking air through her teeth, Lyra fought to steady herself. The world righted slowly as golden curls of light caressed her skin. "No fainting," Alistair's voice murmured as Lyra's vision cleared and the pain receded.

"We should rest for a bit," Wynne said. "Give her time to recover."

"Thank you, Wynne," she said. The healer smiled, her efficient hands cleaning Lyra's arm of blood.

Alistair kissed Lyra's other hand and rubbed it gently. "I don't think the drakes cared what we smelled like," he said with a twinkle in his eye.

"I knew you were going to give me trouble about that," she sighed.

"On the contrary," Brother Genitivi piped up. "It was clear that they weren't certain what to make of us. They did not attack outright, but seemed to be trying to decide if we were a threat. I suspect that had you not drawn your sword, and if your mabari had not lunged, the fight could have been avoided altogether."

"Hear that, Kestrel?" Lyra said sternly. "Next time, don't jump at them."

He nosed her cheek, apology written in his eyes.

"Well, these ones are dead now," Alistair said. "We should really take some of the scales. Drake scale armor is amazing stuff, if you can find an armorer who can make it."

"Do we have room in our packs?" Lyra asked.

"Unfortunately, I think we do. We don't have much left in the way of food. In fact, I'll be honest. I'm wondering if drakes are edible."

"One way to find out," she said.

Alistair began skinning the creatures, commanding her to lay still and let him handle it. Meanwhile, Wynne and Leliana went back to the previous room and brought back some scraps of wood from an old, broken-down goat cage, and built a fire. Brother Genitivi offered to help, but Wynne told him to sit, as well, her no-nonsense look stilling his protests.

"You're limping, brother," Lyra told him. "She's protective of her patients."

A sigh from the cleric as he sat down beside her. "We shall be invalids together, then," he winked.

Kestrel lay between them, watching Alistair carve meat from the drake's bones. He found the huge liver and tossed it to the dog, who began to feast, much to Genitivi's dismay. It wasn't kind, but Lyra stifled the giggle that rose at his expression.

"This is savage." Wynne wrinkled her nose as Alistair skewered a length of meat on Lyra's long, thin sword, then held it over their fire. "I can't believe I'm about to eat dragon."

"Drake, actually," Alistair corrected absently as the steaks sizzled.

"They're clearly related. It's like comparing veal to beef."

"Think this is as good as veal?" Alistair said, his eyes glued to the dripping cuts.

"You're not ruining my sword by doing that, are you?" Lyra asked.

Alistair began to laugh. "Your sword is enchanted to 'flame' whenever you attack. What harm could I be doing to it by cooking a little meat?"

"Oh, right." Lyra stretched, feeling better for her short rest. Leaning back on her hands, she suddenly realized just how wild they must look. All of them filthy and blooded, surrounded by half-skinned drakes, cooking meat over a fire built of worn planks and Wynne's magic. _If my parents could see me now..._ she thought, feeling wistful. She hugged Kestrel close.

The steaks were delicious, better than veal and devoured in short order. When they'd finished the impromptu meal, Lyra carved out a flexible piece of drake underbelly, wrapped more meat in it, and stowed it in her bag. Alistair took more, and they were on their way again.

No further beasts appeared, though there were noises enough to keep them nervous. An hour of travel brought them out into a bowl of a rocky valley, open to the gray sky. The air was cold, and the wind was whipping again. It seemed the storm wasn't quite through with them yet. Thunder rumbled , and in the distance, a streak of lightning cut the atmosphere.

"Look..." Brother Genitivi pointed with a shaking hand. At the other end of the valley was a small stone door set into the mountain. On either side of the door, a statue of Andraste wept in silent repose.

Lyra's heart danced as the party began a run toward the door, certain their quest was close to completion.

But from above, the storm took on a new sound. Confusion swept through her, replaced in an instant by cold terror. Not the storm.

Wingbeats.

The valley itself seemed to shake as the great dragon landed, larger than life. Eyes wide and her voice absent, Lyra stumbled against Alistair, who shoved her toward a bank of boulders. "Go, go go go!" he shouted. The dragon rose up on hind legs, murderous eyes tracking them as its chest expanded.

Leliana, Wynne and Genitivi had split in the opposite direction. Lyra squeezed her eyes shut as the rock they crouched behind was bathed in flames. Kestrel cowered against her, his body curled into a helpless bundle. What in the Maker's holy name were they to do now?

"You're alright?" Alistair demanded.

"Fine," she returned, her heart pounding out of control.

The waves of heat vanished. Steeling herself, Lyra dared to peek as Alistair panted for breath. Across the valley, another rock formation had captured the dragon's attention. Lyra sank down behind the rock again.

"Dragons," Alistair muttered, his voice cracking. "And now we've got to kill it, I suppose. Unless you think we can get back through the mountain and somehow pretend we never came here?"

"Eamon," Lyra said shortly, her mind searching for the method to beat this madness.

The fear on Alistair's face hardened into resolution.

The metallic sound of claws raking stone made her wince. Muscles leaden, she forced herself up again to look. The dragon's focus was still on the other rocks...it seemed the beast was trying to get at the creatures who vexed it so. Moistening her lips, she scanned the valley, measuring distances and spotting hiding places. Turning, she searched the wall behind them, her eyes lighting up at the sight of a rocky outcropping above their heads. Pointing, she asked, "Can you get up there?"

"Why?"

"Leliana and I can distract the dragon. You get up there and jump down on its head. If you can get your sword through the brain, it should finish it off."

"What? What if I miss?" he asked incredulously.

"Don't miss." She pressed her mouth to his, then darted out from behind the rock, shouting at the dragon.

The sound of him yelling her name was a vague distraction. _Don't look back_, she commanded herself as the beast swung its head toward her. She leapt and rolled, avoiding a blast of flame.

_It won't work it won't work it won't work!_ A part of Lyra's brain screamed in panic, browbeating her for concocting such a foolhardy plan. But her body kept moving, plotting her next move. Kestrel barked and pranced, leaping around the dragon's slavering jaws. Thunder rumbled above. The storm was gathering.

The dragon's head sped down lightning-fast, and Lyra rolled out of the way as it snapped at her. She recalled her dream of the Archdemon, of being pinned beneath those enormous claws, and it steeled her resolve.

"Hey! Over here!"

The monster turned, lantern-like eyes spotting Leliana. The bard tossed an unladylike gesture at the dragon, then threw herself to the side as a gout of flame overtook the space she'd occupied.

Lyra's heart soared. She catcalled, twirling her sword in the air as the dragon spun back toward her. "You think you're the only one with fire?" she crowed, her sword lighting up.

The beast bellowed, sending shockwaves through her very bones. A giant claw swiped past as Lyra skipped backward, then she ran, slipping and sliding as a fireball exploded where she'd been standing.

The bard pulled an acid flask from her pouch and hurled it at the dragon, who snapped it out of the air and swallowed it. An unpleasant look crossed its face, and it roared with displeasure and lumbered toward Leliana, snapping its jaws. The valley was small enough to limit the creature's movement, and it was easy to see that the dragon was getting angry.

Lyra shouted again, and the dragon's head whipped around to face her once more. She and Kestrel darted in separate directions, but the dog seemed hardly to concern the monster. It snorted fire, and Lyra was knocked off of her feet, her sword flying from her hand as the rock exploded around her. She scooted backward, trying to regain her feet as the dragon approached. She slipped in gravel, her hands finding no purchase as the serpent closed. Cold sweat broke over her, her eyes darting as she sought anything she could do, anywhere she might escape.

The sound of Alistair's battle cry was what turned both their heads. With a thud, the Warden landed on the dragon's back.

The beast hissed, its shoulders writhing in an attempt to shake Alistair off.

Lyra scrambled away, then picked up a handful of rock. "Come on!" she screamed at the beast, hoping to distract it once more. The missile left her fingers, launching toward the dragon's feet.

It worked, at least for a moment. The giant head whirled toward her once more, a stream of fire shooting from its blackened mouth.

Alistair gained on the head, a grimace firmly set on his face. Lyra held her breath as the dragon's neck rose and fell, another reptilian scream of frustration making her cover her ears in pain.

"Heya! Steam-snoot!" Leliana sang. Another flask exploded near the dragon's hindquarters. But the dragon ignored her as thunder crashed through the sky. Its attention was now fully occupied by Alistair.

Lyra bit her lip as he climbed. What had she been thinking, asking him to do this? She was a much better climber... if either of them was suited to such a task, it was her. But imagining Alistair baiting the beast was almost worse.

She cried out in fear as the dragon shook its head, determined to rid itself of the creature that thought itself so clever. Alistair's arms flung around the scaled neck, his eyes shut tight and his skin pale. A drop of rain splattered Lyra's nose, lightning flashing through the darkening sky as the wind howled all around her. Tears filmed her eyes from the frigid wind, and she wiped them away, her eyes never leaving Alistair.

Thunder boomed all around them as a bolt of lightning struck the rocks near the stone door. A sharp, metallic smell filled Lyra's nose as Alistair reached the dragon's head, the sky flashing and the wind crazy. Eyes streaming, Lyra watched with baited breath as Alistair drew his sword... and fell.

Time stopped, his body loose as a rag doll as it plummeted. Lyra's throat burned, raindrops wetting her lips, and it was only then that she realized that she'd begun screaming.

Then he was on the ground. Still. Too still. Lyra clambered toward him, hands and feet clawing her over the uncooperative earth in her effort to get to him.

A menacing rumble echoed from somewhere, but Lyra had all but forgotten the dragon.

_What have I done?_ Lyra yanked her gloves from trembling hands, certain that this splayed position he'd landed in wasn't natural. Should she touch him? Would it hurt him more? Shaking, she fumbled with the buckles of his armor, desperate to see where the damage was. But a strong, graceful voice pulled her focus.

_"Spiritu vobiscum sum nave!"_

Gasping, Lyra hunkered down over Alistair's body as a wave of light flew over the battlefield. The dragon's roar split the sky in two, but its pain was short-lived, its recovery almost instantaneous. The massive chest expanded as it drew a dangerous breath.

Thunder exploded through the air, and then like the hand of the Maker, a bolt of lightning ripped down through the body of the dragon, bringing a scream of agony from its jaws. It thrashed and quaked as voltage shimmered over its body, and then the giant monster collapsed, shaking the earth and knocking Leliana and Wynne to the ground. Lyra threw her body over Alistair's as rocks and debris flew with the force of the dragon's fall...and then all was still, a soft, cold rain misting the valley in awestruck silence.

There was nothing to do but breathe for a moment, listen to the rain as it began to fall in earnest, feel her own chest fill and empty, over and over. _Alistair._ She sat up, the ache in her chest making it hard to let him go. Her forehead pressed to his as a sob worked free of her throat, scalding tears brimming and spilling over. From somewhere, Kestrel whined, then Lyra felt his nose touch her hand.

_Not dead,_ she told herself as she swallowed her tears. He couldn't be. "Alistair," she whispered. "Come on. Don't do this to me."

Nothing but the rain.

There wasn't enough air, or maybe there was too much, and her lungs had forgotten how to change oxygen into life. Like a fish on land, she struggled as she curled herself around the man she loved, her body shaking with rage and sorrow.

How could she go on? How could she sleep, knowing he was... _No!_ He wasn't. He couldn't be. "Alistair, come on. Wake! Please!"

A thousand steps stretched before her, each more impossible than the last, drudgery to be fulfilled day in and day out. No laughter without him. No smiles. No safety, no surety.

"Alist..." She choked his name, her throat closing as she wept. How could she do everything that needed doing, be the hero that Ferelden needed...without him?

"Lyra..."

Eyes flying wide, she swallowed her sobs as Alistair's eyes fluttered open. "Oh Maker. Alistair! Wynne! Leliana!" She shrieked their names, her voice cracked and strange. Whirling back to him, she found his hand and gripped it. "Don't you die," she begged him. "Don't you stop breathing! Wynne!"

It was another moment before the mage made her way across the small valley, her hair mussed and her robes soaked through with rain. "Lyra, you'll have to help me," Wynne said as she pulled a bottle of lyrium from her belt. Wynne's hands shook as she uncorked the vial, her eyes pinched as she drank it down.

"Anything. Please." Lyra kept one hand locked in Alistair's, but gave her other willingly to the mage. Biting her lip, she watched Alistair's face as faint gold lights shimmered from Wynne's fingertips.

"His back is broken," Wynne said at last. "This will be draining for all of us."

"But you can heal him?" Lyra pleaded.

A tired nod. "If you can give me the energy."

"Perhaps if you rest first, Wynne? You used a lot of magic on the dragon." Leliana knelt beside her. "Can he wait?"

Lyra fought the urge to sock Leliana. _Can he wait?!_

But Wynne's answer soothed Lyra's inner howl. "There's too much risk," she murmured. "Nerve damage is a tricky thing. I dare not wait. But you can help as well."

Leliana nodded, her brows creased as she sat on Wynne's other side and held out her hand.

"Hold Lyra's," the mage instructed. "I need a free hand to direct the flow."

The next few minutes were some of the strangest Lyra had ever experienced. She was a conduit, yet she was also the source, her whole body alive with tingling energy as she fed Wynne's need. Leliana's bright vitality coursed through her, transmuted into healing magic as it dripped through Wynne's fingers.

At last, Alistair stretched, his odd position changing into a more natural, relaxed pose. The lights faded from Wynne's hands.

In a flash, Leliana had circled Lyra, coming to kneel behind Wynne as the mage slouched in fatigue.

Alistair stretched, then looked toward the pile of dead dragon that littered the valley. He shook his head, one hand rising to press against his forehead. "I thought...it's dead?"

"It's dead," Lyra confirmed. "Oh, Maker, Alistair..."

"Come! I've found a cave!" Genitivi called. The cleric waved them toward one of the rock walls as water poured from the clouds. Lyra draped Alistair's arm over her shoulders as they stood, and all of them hurried into the shelter of the mountain.


	43. Dragon's Hoard

**Chapter 42  
>Dragon's Hoard<strong>

Rain dripped from the cave's opening, but inside, it was snug and dry. Genitivi hobbled ahead of them, then indicated a pile of bedrolls. "I brought your packs in," he said. "If you have flint and steel, I'll make us a fire."

Lyra eased Alistair to the floor as Wynne gave Genitivi a weary smile. "Thank you," the mage said. "You'll need light." She gestured with elegant fingers, and a ball of golden glow flamed into being above their heads.

"I'll help," Leliana said. "Wynne, you sit."

Lyra settled Alistair down as well. Though Wynne had mended his wounds, he still looked pale and tired, and his eyes soon closed. Lyra pressed a kiss to his forehead, squeezing his hand before she joined Leliana in getting everything arranged.

It didn't take long to build a fire and lay out bedding. The cave itself was far more than just a hole in the mountain... it twisted and turned, leading to side passages and hidden grottoes. "This must have been the dragon's lair," Lyra said to Leliana.

"Indeed. Maybe there's treasure," Leliana said with a wink. "For now, we need fuel, and everything outside is wet." She looked around, then brightened. A pile of old bones filled one corner. With Genitivi's help, the bard soon had a blaze going in the center of the chamber. To Lyra, it smelled like a roast left too long on the fire; far less comforting than the wood-fires she'd grown up with, but plenty warm, which was all that counted in the end.

"We should explore," Leliana suggested once they'd all changed and gotten cleaned up a bit.

Lyra glanced at Alistair, who had fallen into a deep sleep. Wynne, too, was resting quietly, and Genitivi promised to watch over them both.

Leliana made a torch out of another old bone, wrapping the end in some shredded cloth. Lyra didn't like to think that it might have been one of the cultists at some point, and she shoved the thought firmly from her mind. They wandered through the passages, the walls sparkling with minerals in the light of the torch.

"Look at this!" Leliana led the way into a small chamber, her steps lively and her voice bright. "Lyra! I was half joking, but look!"

An incredible wealth of treasure had been gathered in the in the center of the chamber. Riches were spread before them... piles of gems, gold and silver, weapons both decorative and functional. Kestrel sniffed around curiously, but didn't discover much that was interesting to smell. He flopped down in the corner when it was clear they weren't going anywhere new.

Lyra plucked a coin from one of the piles, holding it near the light of Leliana's torch. "This is Orlesian, isn't it?" Lyra asked.

"Yes, but it's very old. This must have come from the last age, when Orlais was occupying Ferelden. How old _was_ this dragon, anyway?" Leliana wondered.

Lyra shrugged. She had no idea how long-lived dragons might be... perhaps Brother Genitivi would know.

"Look, Lyra." Leliana giggled as she picked up a jeweled tiara. She placed it on her head and did a pirouette. "Do I look like royalty?"

"You look gorgeous," Lyra grinned. Leliana plucked it from her head and fitted it onto Lyra's.

Lyra gave a grand bow, then pulled it from her head and looked at it. "This is almost obscene, the amount of jewels that are here," she commented. "Imagine Zevran's face if he could see this place."

"We should take him back a token," Leliana said. "A souvenir. What do you like best? What just screams 'Zevran'?"

"I don't know... you choose." Lyra set the tiara down in the pile of coins. Her eye was caught by a stack of books, and she waded over to them. "I bet Wynne would love to see these, and probably Morrigan, too." She gathered the ones she thought looked most interesting, then took them back to their campsite. Wynne and Alistair were still fast asleep, and even Brother Genitivi had nodded off. She put the books down carefully, dropped a kiss on Alistair's cheek, and hurried back to the treasure room.

Leliana was poking idly through the piles. When Lyra returned, she held up a beveled gold bar. "This one. This is Zevran," she said.

Lyra nodded. The rogue had a taste for simple, pure beauty. She gestured, "Look, Leliana, there are paintings back here."

Leliana brought the torch over. "I bet Sten would like that."

"You're kidding," Lyra said, and Leliana told her about the way the qunari had picked flowers by the side of the road. Lyra shook her head, wondering if the world was spinning backwards.

"What about you, Leli? What will you take?" Lyra asked.

Leliana sat down carefully and slid the torch into a heavy looking golden jar, which acted as a holder. "I might take some coin, because that's just practical, but otherwise, there isn't much I need," she said. "When all this is over, maybe I'll buy a tavern somewhere, and sing and dance for people. I really do love to perform."

"You're a born performer," Lyra agreed. "I think you should do it. And Alistair and I can stay there when we come through on Grey Warden business."

"Rooms on the house," Leliana grinned.

They were quiet for a moment. Lyra wondered if things might have been different if she hadn't been born a Cousland, and Alistair hadn't been born a Theirin, and they hadn't been recruited by the Grey Wardens. She'd been trying not to think of it, but once the Blight was over, the country would reorganize itself, and Alistair would be sought out as Cailan's brother. It was the most logical conclusion, even if he wasn't ready to admit it to himself.

"Why are you sad, mon ami?" Leliana asked.

Lyra startled, then gave a brief laugh, picking up a coin to fiddle with as she spoke. "I was just thinking... I don't know. I think you were right, Leli. Alistair won't put me aside. But I still can't produce an heir, if it should come to that. I think he would have to take a mistress, and maybe we can raise the child as our own. But that doesn't mean I _like_ the idea." She looked down, twiddling the coin as she gathered her thoughts. "For now, though, I'm just so, _so_ glad he's alive, and I'm furious with myself for suggesting that stupid plan to him. He can't climb that well, and I _can_... there's no reason I shouldn't have been the one up there."

"Don't beat yourself up." Leliana reached over and took her friend's hand. Lyra nodded, lost in her thoughts once more.

A few introspective moments passed. At last, Leliana plucked a silver necklace off the floor. "This for Morrigan?"

"Perfect," Lyra said.

.oOo.

"Where did you _get_ this?" Alistair asked. He scratched Kestrel's ears absently.

Wynne slept on. Leliana had absorbed herself in an old volume of Orlesian ballads, and Brother Genitivi, too, was perusing a tome.

Lyra had found a rune among the dragon's treasure pile, and saved it for Alistair. He was turning it over and over in his fingers, his curious eyes glued to the pitted surface.

"There's a room back there that's full to the brim with treasure. Seriously, we could feed Ferelden for a year with what's in there," she said.

He shook his head wonderingly. "This is beautiful. Thank you - I love it." Alistair leaned in to kiss her gently.

Lyra closed her eyes, savoring the feel of his lips. After nearly losing him, she had no desire to leave his side. Guilt over his near-fatal injury bubbled to the surface. "Alistair..." she hedged. "I'm... really sorry about what happened with the dragon. I never should have asked you to do that - when you fell, I..." She looked down, remembering his plummet and the awful, soul-wrenching sickness that had come with the thought that he was gone from her.

"Hey, don't worry about it, I'm fine," he said warmly. "It was a good plan."

"No, it really wasn't. There were _so_ many things wrong with that plan. You could have died, _I_ could have died, Maker, we _all_ should be dead right now. If it weren't for that lightning strike..." She shivered, and shook her head. "It would kill me to lose you, Alistair. When I thought you were dead..."

"I'm not dead." He took one of her hands in both of his and kissed it. "And we're just fine. Well, we're out of cheese, which isn't good, but a man can't complain too much or it looks bad."

Lyra grinned, and kissed the back of his hand. "Yes. You and your cheese and your hair."

"There you go again. What is it about my hair? I thought you _liked_ my hair."

"I do! I really, really do... but you _do _fuss with it an awful lot," she giggled. He sighed, grinned, and raked a hand over his head. "How are you feeling?" Lyra asked.

He stretched. "Good, really... much better. Definitely needed that nap, though."

"Come on, then. If you're up for a bit of a walk, I want to show you something else."

Alistair rose from the floor. "Do we need shoes?"

"Nah." Lyra picked up a bundle and tucked it beneath her arm, then took his hand and another torch and led him through the tunnels. Kestrel padded along quietly, seeming intent on keeping a close eye on Alistair.

"Duck," she told him, then pulled him into the new chamber after her. The air was damp, the scent of wet earth pervasive. Blue-green fungi glowed on the walls, the floor dipping down gradually to a small, private lake.

Alistair blinked, his mouth dropping open. "A lake? In a cave?"

"It must be fed by an underground hot spring, because it's _warm_." Lyra squeezed his hand, grinning as she anticipated his reaction.

Alistair's eyes widened with longing. He looked back the way they'd come as Lyra wedged the torch into a cleft in the rock. "Think they'll hear us?" he whispered.

Lyra fingered the hem of his tunic as she brushed his neck with her lips. "I don't really care," she murmured. "Do you know how long it's been since we had any time alone together?"

"Actually, yes, I know exactly how long it's been." Alistair shivered, his eyes closing. "Six days, and if we knew what time it was I could tell you how many hours."

"Far, far too long..." She left his neck, her arms curving around his waist.

Alistair tipped her face up to meet his. "_Far_ too long." Their lips met as butterflies clamored in Lyra's stomach. Her fingers tightened on his shirt, the fabric wrinkling beneath her touch.

He wrinkled his nose slightly as he pulled away. "My darling, darling love... you smell like the wrong end of a dragon," he whispered in a sultry voice.

Lyra tapped her finger on his nose. "You say that as if _you_ don't smell the same way," she returned. "Let's wash."

Clothing pooled to the ground, and then they slipped into the water. Submerged in the heat and comfort of the thermal pool, Lyra sighed. Every muscle uncoiled in the blessed warmth, her skin alive with gratitude. Weeks since she'd had a proper bath, longer since she'd felt so comfortable.

Kestrel crept in, as well, but was satisfied to sit in only the first few inches of the pool. The stone floor sloped, and soon they were on the tips of their toes, the water brimming over their shoulders. Lyra ducked under and scrubbed her fingers through her hair, working every last particle of dirt from her scalp. The nicely tied tails that Lanaya had put into her hair had come out weeks ago, but she had saved the beads. Perhaps Leliana could help her recreate the style after she was clean.

She popped up out the water, and saw Alistair on the other side of the small lake. "Come see this," he called.

A smooth ledge set a foot below the waterline formed a natural seat, and Alistair perched on it, grinning at his find. Lyra pulled herself up onto the ledge, the chill of the outside air washing over her upper body. Alistair pulled her into his lap, cradling her close. It was only natural to settle her arms around his shoulders, her head pillowed by his collarbone.

So relaxing to be there together in the quiet, their bodies loose and the light dim. Lyra closed her eyes, feeling almost as if she could drift off.

The warmth of his breath ebbed through her hair, such contentment in the sound of his sigh. "I have missed you... so, so much," he whispered.

"I've missed you too. I miss being close to you," she whispered back.

His hand wrapped around the flesh of her hip - what little there was. "I think you've lost weight," Alistair commented. "You seem thinner than the last time I held you like this."

"So do you, actually," she frowned. "Our bodies just burn through the food, don't they?"

"They do... and as much as we eat, we haven't really been eating enough," he said. "When we finish with this trip and return to Redcliffe, I am going to eat until I drop."

"Chicken with ham, dripping with butter and fresh herbs..." she said longingly.

"Fresh fruit, and hot bread and cold milk..."

"And cheese," they both said, and laughed softly.

Silence for a time, then, "Do you think we'll find the Ashes?" Alistair asked quietly.

"I can't say, Alistair... I hope so."

"Me too," he whispered.

Lyra laid her lips on his neck, her fingers kneading through his hair. Alistair's chin lifted, his eyes falling closed and his hand squeezing her hip once more. Leaving his collarbone, Lyra kissed him, desire rising as lips parted and tongues met. She trailed her fingers lightly over his back, feeling the cool wetness there as their mouths moved together. Alistair shuddered, then one hand trailed upward to caress her breast.

She groaned with pleasure, goosebumps flushing over her skin. Their kiss became harder, more desperate. Something _snapped_ between them, the mood shifting in an instant. Alistair squeezed her breast suddenly, his touch anything but gentle. She gasped at the urgency that shot through her, his hungry mouth demanding she give him more. Breath ragged, she tilted her chin away as his calloused hands grasped her, his lips and tongue working miracles over her tender flesh.

He was ready for her, his arousal evident and vivid and oh so tempting. Utter want welled up within her, pure longing making her throb with need. After their forced celibacy and Alistair's brush with death, and now this perfect setting...

"Lyra," he whispered, his voice broken. "I don't want to wait."

"Then don't," she whispered back, her own voice shaking.

It took no effort to lift herself over him, to fit him in the proper place, to grip him with her knees as they worked together. A moan lifted between them when he sheathed himself at last in her lurid heat. His arms circled her back, unwilling to let her go. Lyra gripped him just as tightly, desperation melding their bodies close. Rapture built within her, foreheads touching as Alistair moved within her, his fingers kneading her back. It was like coming home, feeling this connection once again.

A few glorious moments, then the feeling faded, bringing them back down to earth. Alistair nuzzled her neck, his lips and hands gentle and full of need. "Maker, I really needed you," he murmured, echoing her thoughts.

She closed her eyes, sinking into the love that Alistair bathed her in. To think, if not for Wynne, Alistair would be gone.

"Do you have any of that soap left?" he murmured, his forehead pressed gently against hers. Lyra nodded. "We should get really clean," he mused, "and then we should do some more of _this_."

She smiled, her heart light as air. "Stay here," she murmured.

His hands on her hips stopped her, mischief abundant in his grin.

With a sigh, Lyra gave up her attempts to leave his side. "So, you're getting the soap, are you?"

Immediately, he let her go, and Lyra began to laugh as she swam back across the lake. "I see how it is," she called. "I rank just below hot water?"

"Are you talking? I can't hear you over the sound of how good I feel," Alistair returned.

Shaking her head, Lyra grinned with delight as she climbed from the water and retrieved the soap from her bundle.


	44. Guardian of the Gauntlet

**Chapter 43  
>Guardian of the Gauntlet<strong>

"Where did you two get off to?" Leliana asked slyly when they came walking back into camp. Brother Genitivi had fallen asleep on a bedroll, and Wynne was likewise still dozing.

"We took a bath and then fell asleep," Lyra replied.

Alistair set their things down, then groaned with appreciation as he spotted the roast spitted over the fire. "Leliana, you cooked? I think I love you."

"Hot water and food. Next time, I'll just throw cheese at you when I want your attention," Lyra groused. For answer, Alistair pulled her into his arms and kissed her, one hand rising to card through her hair.

"Stop complaining, Lyra. All you have to do is walk in, and Alistair follows you around like a puppy." The bard stretched as she stood. "The hot spring is nice, then?"

"Fabulous. Want my soap?"

"Most definitely. Too bad I have no pretty girl to take with me. I doubt I'll look as relaxed as Alistair does when I come back, though I can try," Leliana teased.

Lyra dissolved into giggles as Alistair turned beet red. Leliana threw them a wink, then strolled off down the tunnel after taking the bundle from Lyra.

"Both of you. Maker's undergarments." Alistair poked Lyra in the ribs as he sat down before the roast, hefting up a knife to cut himself a portion.

"Some for me, please." Lyra settled next to him as Alistair sliced.

Alistair paused as she sat. "Where are your socks?"

"Drying. I did washing."

He gave her a pained look as he pointed toward his pack, then went back to the roast. Grinning, Lyra dug through his things, coming up with a thick pair of woolen socks and pulling them on her feet.

"Barefoot in a cave," Alistair muttered. "Unbelievable. You've learned nothing."

"I've learned that I like your socks better than mine."

"You're welcome." Alistair leaned in to kiss her, then presented her with a slice of roast. The hot meat burned her fingers, but she cared little, focused solely on filling her growling belly. They chatted quietly as they ate, not wishing to wake Wynne and Genitivi.

Their healer soon woke anyway, though, and Lyra asked how she was feeling.

Wynne stretched. Despite her sleep, she still looked drawn. "I fear I really pushed myself too hard this time. Luckily, I had that lyrium potion. I'm glad I was able to resupply a little when we stopped at Kinloch Hold. Thank you, Alistair." She pushed the blankets aside and accepted the piece of roast that Alistair had carved for her.

"After you eat, Wynne, there's this marvelous chamber back there with a hot spring. We just had a bath, and Leliana is using it now. And if you give me your clothing, I'll wash it," Lyra offered.

"No need, my dear. I'll take care of my things." Wynne had almost taken a bite when her eyes fell on Lyra's feet. She set her dinner aside, reaching for her pack instead. "There is a hole in the toe of your sock. Give it to me," she commanded.

Puzzled, Lyra pulled it off her foot and handed it to the mage.

Wynne took a small leather bundle from her pack, which turned out to contain several needles and thread in assorted colors. "I'll mend it for you," Wynne said. "Lyra, this sock is huge... oh, I see. It's Alistair's. Alistair, you should take better care of your socks."

"It's not my fault! My boots are so very, very hard, my socks don't stand a chance," Alistair whined.

Lyra giggled. "You're lucky I'm doing his laundry now, Wynne. When we met, I don't think he'd washed his socks in a month."

Wynne's mouth dropped open in disgust. "Alistair, that's inexcusable."

"It wasn't a month..." he protested. "Okay, maybe two weeks, I'll give you that. But, really. Do you know how hard it is to find enough clean water to wash with while traveling with a group of sweaty men? None of us were springtime fresh."

"It's bad for your health," Wynne scolded. "You're lucky to have someone who's willing to wash your things."

"I wouldn't say willing..." Lyra drawled.

"I help," he grinned. "I did all the washing when we were in Redcliffe. Lyra was practically useless, laying things out to dry like a lazy, lazy person."

"Oh, see if I keep washing your socks now."

"You will. You like wearing them too much." He clasped her hand as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

Wynne shook her head and smiled, then drew a sudden, sharp breath. Her eyes creased as she closed them, a fleeting look of pain crossing her fine features.

Lyra sat up and away from Alistair, alarmed. "Are you alright, Wynne?"

Another moment, and the healer relaxed, her face smoothing once more. "There is something I should tell you about," Wynne said. "Something that happened before we met, while I was still in the tower." She tied the end of the thread and snapped it off, then handed Lyra the newly mended sock. "It was when Uldred began his campaign to take over the tower, and everything was in an uproar. I left my room and saw my apprentice, Petra, being chased by abominations. She was guiding a group of younger students, and the abominations were gaining on them.

"I threw a fire spell, and the abominations fell to the ground, burning. I told Petra and the others to go, and she got them safely away. But then around the corner came another, and it cast a lightning bolt that brought me to the ground."

Alistair's arm curved around her waist. Lyra shivered as she cuddled into him, dread welling in her gut as she listened to the healer's steady voice.

Wynne took a breath. "My eyes closed, and I felt the world fading, my consciousness retreating. Darkness surrounded me, and I was alone, and so frightened. It was then I knew, I was going to die."

Lyra shivered, cuddling closer into Alistair.

"And then... I felt a presence, warm and comforting. It was filled with love, and I knew I was absolutely safe. It...cradled me, held me close, as a mother might hold a child who wished to escape... firmly, with absolutely certainty. It did not allow me to continue the journey to the Maker's side.

"After a time, I found my strength returning, and I became conscious of small details... the cold stone of the floor pressing into my hip, the sound of Petra's voice. I woke, alive and well. But believe me, Lyra... I am supposed to be dead."

Lyra chewed her lower lip. "So... you were saved. But by whom, or what?"

"I do not know for certain, but I suspect it is a good spirit of the Fade. It is still with me... it bolsters my strength, and allows my magic to flow more easily. I have always been a talented healer, and now I wonder if this spirit hasn't been helping me all along. But now, I can feel the spirit weakening, and I do not know how much longer it will last outside the Fade. I am living on borrowed time."

"When you cast that spell against the dragon. It weakened the spirit?" Lyra asked.

Wynne nodded, her eyes guarded. "And then Alistair's healing took much out of me. I am not certain how wise it was for me to use so much power all at once. Needless to say, I won't be doing that trick to entertain children at parties." Such a grave subject, but amusement played with the edges of Wynne's mouth as she made the joke. "I am sorry to say that I will need more rest before I can move on again. If you should wish to go ahead to the temple, I will understand... you don't want an old woman slowing you down."

"Nonsense, Wynne. You rest as long as you need. We'll wait. Alistair is still recovering as well... and I haven't thanked you properly for saving his life." She moved to the elder woman and put her arms around her. "You've done so much for us. I am so grateful that you chose to come along on our journey. If there is ever, ever anything you need, say the word, and I will make it happen."

Wynne's return hug was full of warmth. "You are a fine young woman, Lyra Cousland. Your mother would be proud of you."

Tears brimmed in Lyra's eyes. "I hope so, Wynne," she whispered back.

.oOo.

"Wow." Alistair stared at the treasure cavern. "This would buy a lot of cheese."

Lyra laughed, her eyes sparkling as she tugged him into the room. "It's a little bit like a fairy tale, isn't it?"

Alistair chuckled, delighted with her smile. "Where did you find the runestone?"

"Over here." She knelt, digging through a pile of coins. "There's a lot of random little things mixed in here. No organization. Poor dragon needed a housekeeper."

He knelt beside her, his eye drawn to a few sparkling jewels. "Are you taking anything?"

Lyra snorted. "Leliana wants me to take a tiara she found."

"You say that like it's silly." Alistair grinned. "Where is it?"

She gave him a look. "No."

"Why not? Indulge me." Alistair looked around, but there was too much for his eyes to quickly sort through. "What's a tiara look like? Isn't it some kind of flashy girly crown?"

She began to laugh. "Stop. Just stop. I'm not putting it on."

He gave up, his chin tilting down again again as he eyed the diamonds and sapphires he'd seen. "Um, Lyra... do we have anything to carry some of this with? I don't think we need much, but a small bag of coins wouldn't hurt. And if we find an armorer who can make something of those scales, we could use the coin to pay him," he suggested.

"I've got an empty pouch in my bag. Should I get it?"

"Would you?"

She nodded, then stood and jogged through the rocky arch.

Quickly, Alistair sifted through the pile of gems, pulling together a selection of sizes and colors. Seeing the gems had sprouted a seedling of an idea in his head. A filigreed silver bracelet caught his eye as well. Too flashy for Lyra's tastes, but perhaps... He stuffed them into his pocket, then began gathering piles of coins. When Lyra returned, they filled her pouch, and left the cavern.

.oOo.

Night fell outside the cave, and Wynne and Brother Genitivi made use of the pool when Leliana had finished. It seemed that the spring was self-renewing, and the water was still fresh even after the use of five people and a dog. It was tempting to go for another dip before bedtime, but Lyra found she was more tired than she'd thought, and bedrolls appealed more than hot water. They ate the remainder of the drake meat, and went to sleep early.

The next morning dawned bright and clear, with no trace of the lightning storm that had saved their lives. It was still cold, but the sun cut through some of the chill. Wynne said she felt good as new, so they dressed, packed, and nibbled on jerky as they made the short walk to the stone door of the temple. The dragon's giant carcass littered the landscape, and Lyra wondered if it would be possible to take some of the scales. If drake scales were good, dragon scales must be better.

Brother Genitivi was nearly hopping with excitement. He examined the door, murmuring to himself, then moved as if to push it open. The door jerked away from his hand before he could touch it, a cascade of dirt and dust drifting down as it ground its way open. Lyra met Leliana's wide eyed stare with one of her own. Obviously, there was magic in this place... or perhaps, a touch of the Divine.

"Be welcome, pilgrims," a dry, dusty voice said.

They stepped forward into a small chamber, where an old man stood before another door. Another guardian? Lyra thought of pulling her blades, but the man bore no weapon, and did not look threatening. They gathered before him, waiting.

"You seek the ashes of Blessed Andraste?" he asked softly.

"We do," Lyra affirmed.

"You have slain the dragon that terrorizes this valley, as well as the priests who perpetuated the myth. The cult that worshiped the dragon as the Bride of the Maker reborn is scattered to the winds. For this, I thank you." He bowed.

The pieces fell into place in Lyra's head. The cultists had thought the _dragon _was Andraste... what a bizarre idea. "But that dragon was_ not_ Andraste, right?" she asked, wanting to clarify.

"No, our Maker's beloved Bride is at his side. She has gone to her final rest, as must we all when our time comes."

Was it Lyra's imagination, or had his eyes sought Wynne?

"All who seek the remains of Andraste must pass through the Gauntlet," he continued, "a series of challenges to determine your worthiness. Do not fear. If your hearts are pure and your intentions true, you will pass without difficulty."

"But we don't need the ashes for ourselves... it's to heal a dying man," Lyra argued.

The man shook his head. "It matters not. All must be judged."

A sudden change came over the room. Lyra could not identify just what it was, but what had been a guileless chamber now felt... ominous. Cold tingles raced up her spine as she darted her eyes from wall to wall, seeking the eyes she was certain were on her. Who was watching?

"Lyra Cousland, Grey Warden, before I allow you to enter the Gauntlet, answer me one question. Do you not feel regret at abandoning your parents to their deaths? You ran, leaving them to be slaughtered by a traitor, a man they thought was their friend. How is it you rise each day, knowing you let your parents die alone, without even their daughter to attend their final moments?"

Lyra's stomach tied itself in knots. Her father's agonized face came back to her, along with her mother's cold determination. She _had_ run; she'd followed Duncan like a coward. What sort of daughter was she, to do such a thing? How could she call herself worthy of the Cousland name?

But then... no. Duncan had asked her to come, had told her what need there was. Her father had implored her to go; her mother had insisted she leave. Righteous anger tightened her throat as she looked back at the guardian, his judgmental eyes burning her up. "I didn't abandon them!" she said through clenched teeth. "I was prepared to stay and defend them, and even die at their sides, but Duncan made me come away. My parents told me to leave! I have cried myself to sleep, night after night, longing to see them once more, terribly frightened to be alone in the world. Duncan put an impossible task on our shoulders, and I have not shied from it. Ferelden needs me now. No matter how much I wish to pursue vengeance for my family, I must think of the greater good."

One scraggled eyebrow rose, challenge reflected in his ancient eyes.

"Do not think to lecture me, old man." Lyra's voice was hard. "I've been doing it to myself for weeks, and I've faced my demons. My life is my own to control."

He gave a passive nod, then turned to Alistair. All at once, the feeling of being watched vanished, an invisible weight lifted from her body. Lyra sucked in a breath, shocked by the void left behind.

"Alistair Theirin, son of King Maric, you run from your destiny. You know your country needs you, and yet you persist in helping this woman end the Blight. You are frightened to take up the mantle of your duty, and in your heart of hearts you wish you had never been born. And yet, you long to right the wrongs done by your enemies. What makes you worthy of the throne?"

Alistair winced, his eyes canting between all of them. Only Genitivi looked surprised, however. _Wynne knows, and I did tell Leliana,_ Lyra remembered. Wynne nodded encouragingly, and Leliana tossed him an impish wink.

Alistair's adam's apple bobbed, then he dropped his head and spread his hands. "I really don't think I _am_ worthy. But I'm all there is. Eamon could take the throne, but my blood is Theirin, and I think I would make a good king, especially with Lyra to help me." He paused, then looked up, his eyes holding a strange intensity. "Yes, I used to wish I'd never been born. I've found happiness now, in the last few months, but I was always made to feel as if I were nothing but a nuisance, an inconvenience. Becoming a Grey Warden was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I cannot abandon my duty to Ferelden. We will end the Blight, and then I will deal with the rest." He stood straighter, his gaze steady and calm. "Yes, I wondered if I should have died at Ostagar with Duncan... but I believe I was spared for a reason. I will see this through, to the end," he said firmly.

Lyra's heart sang. She was so infernally proud of him.

The guardian nodded again, then looked to Wynne. "Wynne of Kinloch Hold, you claim to support the idea that mages should be contained, yet your heart is rebellious. Over and over, you left the tower, even taking assignments that were not appropriate to your age or status. You considered blood magic when the templars took your babe from your arms, and the day you found your lover dangling from a noose was the day you nearly brought the tower down around you. How can you council these young people, knowing you carry so much hatred and self-conflict? Do you not fear that you are nothing but an old woman, easily forgotten, spouting lessons that no one really cares about?"

Goosebumps flooded Lyra as the guardian spoke. Wynne, a mother? Her lover, dead? A desire for blood magic?

Wynne narrowed her eyes. She stood tall, her spine ramrod straight, and her hands folded before her. "Why do you taunt us with these questions, guardian? Do you really wish to hear the answer, when I know you can read it in my heart? Of course I feel doubt. Of course I wonder if my life will matter when it has ended. All we can do is all we can do, and I have done my best. Yes, I raged when my child was taken from me... but I did not act on it. Yes, I wished to kill every being in Kinloch Hold when I found Sedrick dangling from that beam. But I controlled my anger. I have striven to master my temper, and in my years I believe I have done so at last. These people I travel with - they have ears and minds, and if they choose to listen to the lessons I teach, they do, and if they do not, they do not. I do not control them." Wynne's voice was threaded with frost.

Mesmerized, Lyra spun back to the guardian, wondering if Wynne's disdain would faze him at all.

It did not. Once again, he nodded, then directed his attention to Leliana.

"Leliana Vasseur of Orlais, you say you have been blessed with a dream from the Maker, a dream that set you on your quest. Yet, Andraste herself is the only one who has ever been gifted with such an honor. What makes you think you can claim the same? You told the Wardens of this dream, you used this information to twist their minds into allowing you to join them. But your history is stained with blood. You spent years in depravity, wielding yourself as a weapon at your mistress' whim. And when she tired of you, you tried to kill _her_, running to Ferelden when you failed, and profaning the Maker's sacred house under the guise of sisterhood. Now, after all of this, you dare to claim the Maker's blessing?"

Leliana's crystalline eyes filled with distress. Her mouth had fallen open, astonishment and sadness emanating from her very being. Tears welled as she shook her head, twin droplets sliding down her cheeks. When she spoke, her voice was thick and wrought with pain. "How can you accuse me of this?" She sank to her knees, wilting like a flower. "You have looked into the hearts of my companions. When you look at me, this is what you see?"

The guardian said nothing, only watched the little bard with unfeeling eyes. Leliana's chin dipped to her chest, her hands rising to cover her face. "I lived the way I thought I had to," she whispered. "It is true. I did things I regret. Many things, things that have stained me from within. And yes, when I first came to Ferelden, I sought sanctuary with the sisters. Nothing more."

She lifted her face from her hands, wetness and devastation etched there. "I did not know His peace. But my heart changed. When I came to Ferelden, I thought to hide. But I found new purpose in the Maker's love. If my path was not straight, at least it ended in the Maker's service, and I will spend my life atoning for my sins." Once more, she looked down, her hands spread upon her thighs as she sniffled. "You cannot tell me my dream was not real," she said at last, her voice low and resolute. "My dream was _real._ I do not claim to know the will of the Maker. But my dream told me to leave, to seek the Wardens, and to help them. I cannot know if it came from the Maker, or if this is what the Maker wants... but my heart tells me I am right."

Lyra waited with baited breath, then had to stifle her joy when the guardian nodded once more. If this was a test, Leliana had just passed!

"Genitivi of Denerim," the guardian droned, and Lyra snapped back to attention. "You have sought the Urn of Sacred Ashes for the majority of your life. You have poured funds and energy into a search that you were not sure would ever pay off in any way, and you have taken advantage of the hospitality and kindness of your brethren in your travels. Your own assistant gave his life for your research, and who knows whether these noble folk you now travel with will survive the perils that are yet to come. How can you pursue this path, when it is possible it will only end in ruin?"

Brother Genitivi's brows creased in sadness. "I don't know if the path I chose is the right one. I have, indeed, spent much of my life in this search... it has cost me my family, my friends, and the respect of some of my associates. But... I cannot regret the things I have learned and the things I have seen." He gestured to the rest of the party. "These people saved my life, and now they are helping me realize a lifelong dream. I don't know what will happen next. But they have already faced much danger, and I think it's safe to say they know the risk."

Lyra reached for Alistair's hand, swallowing a morbid chuckle.

"I would have done anything to prevent Weylon's death," Genitivi continued. "But I cannot take back the past. I can only embrace the future. So, I shall. Willingly."

The guardian nodded one final time. Behind him, the stone doors boomed as they opened. "Enter, and may the Maker guide your footsteps."


	45. Tests of Faith

CHAPTER 43

They entered a shallow hallway, with five tall, oval mirrors set into ornate golden frames laid out in a row. There was no visible exit from the room, and they stood there for a moment, puzzled.

"Now what?" Lyra asked of no one in particular. Alistair shrugged, and Leliana tilted her head, thinking.

"Look in the mirrors?" she suggested, and so Lyra stepped forward to the centermost mirror. But instead of only seeing herself, an image shimmered before Lyra's eyes, and she gasped to see a vision of her father standing beside her reflection.

"Father?" she asked breathlessly, and Kestrel barked eagerly at Teyrn Bryce Cousland.

"Pup," he said, with so much love in his voice. "I don't have much time...listen well."

Lyra wiped the tears that began to flow down her cheeks, choking back a sob so that she could hear him. In the reflection, he laid his hand gently on her shoulder, and with the image before her she could practically feel it. A quick glance told her nothing was actually there.

"Your brother lives...he is in Denerim, staying out of sight and trying to gather information about Arl Howe. Seek him out when you return." Lyra nodded, her heart soaring. Fergus was alive!

"Your young man...Alistair. Your mother and I could not be happier for you, and you have our blessing, no matter what the future may hold for the both of you. Love him, as he loves you...it is the greatest blessing you can give to each other." Lyra began to cry in earnest, struggling to keep her eyes clear so she could gaze at her father's face.

"I miss you," Lyra whispered. "I think of you all the time...I wish-"

"I know. But Lyra, you know that we are gone...and all your dreams and wishes will not bring us back. No more must you grieve, my girl. Take the pain and the guilt, acknowledge it, and let go. It is time." Her father's ghostly hand squeezed her shoulder, and she imagined she actually felt the pressure.

"You have a long road ahead of you, and you must be prepared... I know you will do great things. We are so incredibly proud of you, Pup. We'll always be with you. We love you..." her father's voice faded out, and Lyra sobbed hard, losing her breath. The mirror fogged and then cleared again, and it appeared as if the glass had disappeared, and she could see a room beyond. She turned to tell her companions that the way was open, and was shocked to find only Kestrel beside her. She looked around frantically, but four blank walls stared back at her...no doors, no windows, no companions. Kestrel whined, and she shushed him anxiously and looked through the mirror. With nowhere else to go, she took a deep breath and stepped through the mirror frame, hoping she would find her friends on the other side.

* * *

><p>"Holy Maker, where did she go?" Alistair yelped, and indeed, Lyra had simply disappeared. The mirror she had chosen had turned smoky black, and no image could be seen within it.<p>

"Five mirrors...five of us," Wynne said suddenly. "Let us all look." She stepped up to a mirror, and disappeared. Leliana followed suit, and then Brother Genetivi.

Alistair looked around warily as his companions shimmered away into thin air, and then sighed in trepidation and peered into the only remaining mirror.

* * *

><p>"Wynne..." a soft voice said, and Wynne gasped to see Sedrick's image in the mirror.<p>

"Sedrick..." she said softly. Her heart picked up a little to see him standing beside her, and his young countenance beside her aged features made her heart twist a little.

"You look so beautiful," he said, love in his voice. "You never found anyone else..." his voice was slightly sad.

"After what we shared...no. I have kept you in my heart, all these years," Wynne whispered. She wasn't actually all that surprised to see him...it seemed he had been forcing his way back into her life recently, and his handsome face was breathtaking to behold.

"I wait for you, beloved...but your time is not yet. You have a large part to play in everything yet to come," Sedrick said, a note of pride in his voice.

"Why did you leave me?" she whispered brokenly, a question that had burned within her heart for nearly forty years.

"I couldn't live with myself...not after causing you the pain I did. Forgive me," he begged, and she closed her eyes, all of the hurts she had healed rising again to the surface.

"Our son..." she whispered, and Sedrick spoke up eagerly.

"He lives! His name is Rhys...he is a mage in Orlais. He has your eyes..." Sedrick said wistfully, and Wynne felt tears spilling down her face.

"I must go, Wynne... but know that I have always loved you, and had I the chance to do it over again I would not be such a bloody fool. You were the only thing in my life worth living for, and I left you. Forgive me, my love, and I will wait for you here..." his voice faded out, and the glass cleared. Wynne saw Lyra and Kestrel standing in a room on the other side of the mirror frame, and she stepped through after drying her eyes, shelving her thoughts of Sedrick and her son until later, when she could think of each one in the shining light they deserved.

* * *

><p>A woman with bright red hair bound into a long braid laughed in the mirror, and Leliana's eyes widened with love.<p>

"Mama!" she cried joyfully, and spun to hug her mother, but there was no one there, and when she turned back to the mirror her mother shook her head sadly.

"Just my image, lovey girl. Oh, you've grown so beautiful! I wish we had more than a moment together, dearest sweetheart...but let me look at you," Leliana's mother smiled with pleasure at the sight of her child, and Leliana felt tremendous joy filling her heart.

"I am still watching over you, my girl. You have not had an easy time of it, but I have always loved you and tried to intercede for you when I could. Marjolaine did not deserve you...I am so glad that you have moved on, out of that pain. You will find your love, Leliana...do not fear. You have a true friend in the Warden...stay with her!"

"Yes, Mama, I will," Leliana said, happy tears misting her eyes. Leliana's mother smiled a sweet, beautiful smile, and gazed rapturously on her daughter.

"I love you, Leliana...always remember that. I love you more than I can say."

"I love you too, Mama! I love you!" Leliana said fervently.

"Just let me look at you, my sweet girl..." she said, and Leliana and her mother gazed longingly at each other until the image faded. Leliana wiped a small tear from her eye, incredibly happy to have gotten such a rare gift. She whispered a prayer of thanks, and then the glass disappeared, and she saw Lyra in the room beyond. She stepped through the mirror.

* * *

><p>"Brother Genetivi!" Weylon's happy voice said, and Genetivi's eyes widened.<p>

"Weylon?" he said softly, and turned to look behind him. He turned quickly back to the mirror to see Weylon smiling at him.

"You were right, Brother...the Urn is real! And you're almost there! I can't wait to see it...I'm keeping an eye on your quest, of course," Weylon said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Weylon, I...I feel terrible. That isn't even the right word...awful, or dreadful. I am so, so sorry...about your death," Genetivi said regretfully, and Weylon sighed.

"I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me, as well. But it was _not your fault_, Brother, do not forget that," Weylon said firmly. "I've moved on to the Maker's side, and it was an honor to assist you in your work. But I must tell you, Brother...do not share the location of the Urn. Compel your companions to keep this secret, as well."

"But Weylon, it should be shared with the world!" Brother Genetivi said. "Everyone should be able to share in the faith and the hope that Andraste provides!"

"And so they can, Brother...through your works. But the ashes are not plentiful...they are hidden, and are only revealed to those who have greatest need. The world hangs in the balance, and it has been decreed by those far more powerful than you or I that these Wardens succeed in their quest. If it were not...they would not have survived that encounter with the high dragon."

"Then...the lightning?" Brother Genetivi said faintly, and Weylon nodded.

"A bit of help from on high, as it were. Don't tell them," he warned. "They cannot know of the Maker's favor...it might make them lazy," Weylon said, his eyes laughing. "Yes, our Maker has a sense of humor...at least, about some things. He is watching, though...never fear."

Brother Genetivi fell to his knees and began praying, giving fervent thanks, and Weylon bowed his head and prayed with him. Then the mirror fogged out, the glass disappeared, and Genetivi saw his companions in the next room. He hurried through.

* * *

><p>"Alistair. My boy," Duncan said warmly.<p>

"Duncan?" Alistair said, and looked behind him. The Warden was not there, and Alistair began sputtering in disbelief. Duncan laughed, and then hushed him.

"There is no time for lengthy explanations. Alistair, you are doing a fine job. The Blight _will_ be stopped, as long as you stay the course. Do not allow yourself distractions...the Archdemon is coming, and Ferelden must be united if it is to survive. But you are not alone in this...you have more help than you know."

"I know...Lyra. Duncan, I love her...I don't think I was supposed to fall in love-"

"There is no Grey Warden law against it, but your particular situation is rather unique. However, you have other responsibilities, you know," Duncan said sternly, and Alistair nodded.

"The kingship. I don't know what to do..." Alistair said, his voice frustrated.

"Stop the Blight. Your political ties are nothing next to this. You are a Grey Warden first...and the son of a king second. Remember that, my son," Duncan said kindly.

"I should have been there, Duncan. On the field with you. I could have taken the blow..."

"No, my boy. I am glad you were not there...Ferelden needs you. Lyra needs you to help her. You are more than you believe, Alistair...you have the means to end the Blight. Don't shy away from it!" Duncan said fiercely, and Alistair nodded again.

"I'll do my best. I swear it," he said.

"I thank the Maker for every day that I knew you, my boy. You have made me tremendously proud, and if I had a son, I would want him to be like you," Duncan said, and Alistair smiled a little, his heart aching.

"You were like a father to me, Duncan. I wish..."

"As do I, Alistair. Maker's blessing on you, my son."

"Maker watch over you, Duncan," Alistair said, his voice breaking slightly. The mirror fogged, and the glass disappeared. He saw Lyra and the other standing on the other side of the glass, and he stepped through hurriedly, hoping his eyes showed no betraying wetness.

* * *

><p>"You're here," Lyra said, and slipped her arms around him. "I saw my father..."<p>

"I saw Duncan," Alistair said, and Lyra looked at him in amazement. He opened his mouth to tell her everything Duncan had told him, but then there was the sound of steel being drawn, and they whipped their heads around to see...nothing.

"FOR THE GREY WARDENS!" Alistair's voice shouted, and then heavy, stomping footsteps echoed, as if Alistair was running toward a foe. Alistair shoved Lyra bodily away and pulled his weapon. Lyra fell to the ground and watched in disbelief as Alistair battled...nothing?

"What are you doing?" Lyra cried, and then she heard more footsteps, and saw a faint image of _herself_ running toward her, an ugly snarl on her face. Her fiery blade was held aloft, and she scrambled to her feet in fear and shock and pulled her own blade, managing to parry her own sword just in time.

In the same moment, Leliana and Wynne were attacked by their own doppelgangers, and Brother Genetivi began wrestling bodily with his own ghost. Kestrel circled a transparent Mabari, growling and then leaping into the fray.

Lyra couldn't see anyone else's double, and she doubted they could see hers, either. She found she was unable to gain ground against herself...she knew all of her own moves, but so did her twin. Ghost-Lyra snarled fiercely, and Lyra was taken aback by how ferocious she looked. The thought distracted her momentarily, and she slipped and fell as Ghost-Lyra stabbed savagely with her flaming sword. It provided an unexpected opening, and she drove her dagger upward into Ghost Lyra's stomach as the spirit drew back for a final, finishing thrust. Her doppelganger disappeared, a look of fury on it's face, and Lyra stumbled to her feet to try and catch her breath.

She found that she could now _see_ the others, and she hurried to help Brother Genetivi, who was clearly not a fighter. It was sort of funny to see the two twin men grappling bare-handed with each other...it reminded her of nothing so much as two small boys tussling in the mud. She waited for a good opening, and then sliced Ghost-Genetivi across the throat with her blade. He disappeared suddenly, looking just as enraged as her own spirit double had looked.

Leliana had defeated her double and had moved to help Wynne, so Lyra sprinted toward Alistair, and arrived just in time to see Alistair drive his sword though Ghost-Alistair's gut. It was extremely disconcerting to watch Alistair die, even if it was just a spirit, and even if he did look spitting mad as he did it.

Wynne's ghost expired a moment later, and they all panted and sheathed their weapons again.

"What...was _that_?" Alistair said, and Lyra shook her head, not knowing how to answer.

"One of the challenges the Guardian said we would face, I should think," Genetivi said, straightening his tunic. "I never thought I would face myself in battle...many thanks, Lady Lyra, for your timely intervention."

They moved on to the next room, wondering what it could possibly hold.

"It can't be worse than fighting our own doubles...right?" Wynne said, a smile in her voice.

The chamber opened up before them, and a rickety looking bridge suspended over a yawning chasm met their eyes. The only way through the chamber was over the bridge, which looked very old and extremely unstable, the rough boards gray and splintering, the ropes brittle and falling into decay. Lyra peered over the edge of the chasm, and then Alistair picked up a loose pebble and tossed it over, where it disappeared into the brightly lit fog below. They all listened, and there was no sound of it hitting the ground.

"That's a long way down," Alistair said.

"I really, really don't like the look of that bridge..." Lyra said, and Kestrel sniffed at it distrustingly.

"Look," Leliana said, and she pointed across the bridge to the doorway. In the doorway on the wall was a lever.

"I wonder what that does," Leliana said. She looked carefully at the walls and ceiling of the chamber, and then nudged Lyra.

"Look! There is a catwalk...see?" Leliana pointed up, and Lyra saw a very thin beam running along the ceiling of the chamber.

"Me or you?" Lyra said, and Leliana began to pull of her armor, stripping down to her breastband and smalls.

"Me," she said, and Lyra nodded. She helped Leliana gather her armor into a neat pile. Wynne looked as though she might object, but then she pressed her lips together and said nothing. The Bard began to climb up the wall up to the beam, using the rough stone to pull herself up with fingers and toenails.

Lyra's stomach twisted a bit as she watched Leliana climb nimbly up the wall and test her weight on the catwalk far above them. Alistair gripped her hand tightly, and Wynne was wringing her hands anxiously. Kestrel whined at Lyra, and she reached to crush his head against her leg, mauling his ears slightly with a nervous hand. Brother Genetivi began to chant softly in prayer. It was a height of at least fifty feet, and Leliana was taking a terrible risk.

The bard inched her weight out on the beam, and began to edge slowly across. It was a slow sort of crawl on her hands and knees, and from what they could see Leliana seemed to be having no problems making the crossing. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief when the bard reached the far end of the beam, and began to climb carefully down to the other side of the bridge. Leliana dropped the last few yards, landing cat-light on the balls of her feet. She flipped the lever, and the rickety bridge began to rise into the air, the stone stumps the ropes were attached to rising and extending into two tall pillars. A few moments later, out of the fog below rose a round circle of stone, perfectly cut to fit the gaping maw. The floor of the chasm settled loudly into place with a sliding of stone, and Kestrel barked joyfully and ran across to Leliana, who embraced him with a laugh and ruffled his fur.

"Were you worried for me, you handsome beast?" Leliana teased, and kissed his face. He gave her a slobbery kiss, and she hugged him close as the others came jogging across.

"Well done, Leliana," Alistair said with a grin, and Lyra hugged her happily. Leliana dressed quickly in her armor again, and they moved through to the next chamber.

A wall of magical fire stretched across the room, and Lyra squinted to feel the heart of the flames. It crackled merrily, but showed no sign of spreading, but no sign of dying out, either, although there seemed to be no fuel source.

"We could run through, probably," Alistair said. "If we're quick enough we probably won't even lose our eyebrows."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea..." Lyra said. "Each of these challenges has had a trick to them. Don't do anything just yet." Alistair nodded agreement, and Lyra's eyes scanned the room and lit on a small plaque on the floor in front of the flames. She approached it carefully, the heat of the fire burning her skin and making her eyes tear. It read, in ornate lettering...

_Cast off the trappings of worldly life,  
><em>_and cloak yourself in the goodness of spirit.  
>King and slave, lord and beggar;<br>be born anew in the Maker's sight._

Lyra backed up, feeling a cool wash of air sooth her face as she left the heat of the flames. She told everyone what the plaque said, and they all considered.

"Cast off the trappings of worldly life..." Leliana mused.

"So, what, we have to be naked?" Alistair joked, and Lyra thought about it. It made a sort of sense...allowing themselves to be completely vulnerable to the flames, trusting in the Maker to protect them.

"I think you may be right," she said, and Alistair raised his eyebrows.

"Lyra, you know I'd walk through fire for you. But come on...that's actual _fire,_" he said, concern in his voice. "You felt the heat of it. You can't be serious about this." His voice was extremely worried, knowing her way of making quick decisions, and she ignored him, considering the challenge before them.

"I'm trying it," she said suddenly, and began to pull off her armor.

"You're not!" Alistair said, but she ignored him and continued to strip, dropping her armor in a pile hurriedly before she could change her mind. Leliana began removing her things as well, and Brother Genetivi pulled off his shirt and began unfastening his pants.

"If I'd known, I wouldn't have put my armor back on at all," Leliana said playfully as she dropped her boots in a growing pile.

"Have you all lost your marbles?" Alistair shouted, watching in disbelief as Wynne also began removing her things. "This is...you're going to run, _naked_, through _fire?"_

Lyra blocked out his voice, determined not to lose her nerve. She hesitated for a moment when she came to her smallclothes, and then she shut her eyes and pushed her undergarment down to the floor, and removed her breast band as well. Alistair covered his face and shook his head.

"I'm not seeing this, I'm not seeing this..." he murmured as Wynne and Leliana also removed their things. Brother Genetivi seemed not to care that he was surrounded by three naked women, and stared hypnotized at the flames. Kestrel yipped appealingly at Alistair, who threw him an irritated glance.

"Sure, easy for you to say," Alistair said to the dog. "You spend your life naked."

"Alistair, if you don't want to join us, then wait here." Lyra said, and took a deep breath. She began to move forward, and he caught her hand.

"Fine...wait, just a moment," he muttered, and began unbuckling his armor.

All of them studiously kept their eyes to themselves, looking at the flames, the floor, their hands, a speck on the ceiling. It was more than a tad embarrassing to be completely naked...but they did their best not to acknowledge it.

"Just so you know, I hate you a little bit right now," Alistair said, and he stepped out of his shorts with a sigh and dropped them on the floor.

Lyra grinned at him sheepishly, and he muttered, "Another thing I can cross off my bucket list. Sustaining third degree burns while running naked through a holy temple...can't tell you how long I've wanted to do _that_."

"Shhh," Lyra said, and took a breath, then looked around at the others.

"Altogether, then?" she asked, and they nodded.

"Ready...go!" Lyra called, and they ran full out at the flames. Lyra closed her eyes, unwilling to look. Her heart pounded in her ears, and her palms were slick with sweat. She felt a warm caress on her body, and the stone was warm beneath her feet. Suddenly the air cooled, and she opened her eyes to see she was through the fire, completely unharmed. Everyone else was through, too, and the Guardian strode though the flames to meet them.

"You have passed through the challenges of the Gauntlet, and been found worthy in the eyes of the Maker and Andraste. Approach the ashes, and if it is your desire, take a pinch to use in whichever way you choose," he said solemnly, and stood beside a stone staircase which shimmered into being. Lyra led the way, and the five of them, plus Kestrel, slowly climbed the stairs.

At the top was a beautiful statue depicting the Bride of the Maker, her hands extended gently downward, her face lifted toward the heavens in glorious happiness. Instead of the normally non-descript features, Andraste was depicted as a young woman, with a round face, short hair and a slightly pointed nose. Her lips were full, and smiling, and a look of beatific adoration was in her large, expressive eyes.

"Is that what she really looked like?" Leliana whispered in awe. "I never dreamed I might actually see her face..."

"Being here is the greatest honor of my life," Wynne whispered. "I admit that I doubted...but the Ashes are, indeed, real."

Brother Genetivi said nothing, but the look in his eyes was greater than any words he might have said.

"I can't believe it...here we are," Alistair said softly, his voice full of wonder. "And there _it_ is...The Urn of Sacred Ashes."

Lyra approached the simple golden urn, which was void of any decoration. She hesitated, realizing she had nothing to put a pinch of the ashes in, and Brother Genetivi pointed to a small pouch that was beside the Urn. Lyra looked at it curiously...had it been there a moment before? She picked it up, and then reverently retrieved a pinch of the ashes from the Urn, and pulled the pouch shut with shaking fingers.

Behind them, the wall of fire guttered out, and they turned to go, each of them thinking of the miracle they had witnessed. They reached their clothing and armor, and dressed quietly, feelings of quiet joy reverberating in each of their hearts.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Hey livelaughluvmusic! To answer your question no, I haven't played any of the Mass Effect games. My hubby has, and I think I might give it another try...I'm not as into shooters, but I understand the storyline and characters are supposed to be great. It's Bioware, so it's gotta be awesome. So...I think I'll try it again. Sometime soon._

_In other news, Berserkians Fury has inspired me to take a portion of this story in a slightly different direction. Orzammar will be decidedly non-canon. Like, completely. You've been warned. :-D In related news, I ordered my very own copy of DA:O Ultimate Edition today, so I can play all of the extra content! HOORAY! I've been waiting years to do that. I'm thinking most of it will appear in a sequel...I'll obviously have to fudge details in order to make things work, but that's what fan fiction is all about, right?_

_Also, wow. Another misspelled name. So far, there's Owen, Thomas, and now...apparently it's "Genitivi", not Genetivi. Oh well...a find and replace at the end will take care of that. Shoulda looked it up in the Wiki before now. For the sake of spelling it the wrong way the whole time (consistency, right?) I'll go ahead and keep it the way I had it for now._

_Super thanks to KnightOfHolyLight, who suggested that everyone get a chance to talk with someone in the Gauntlet instead of just Lyra, which I think only makes sense. Good call, friend. :-)_

_Thanks for the reviews! The Original Frizzi, Berserkians Fury, livelaughluvmusic, FenZev, KnightOfHolyLight, and Magical Mimi caused me to get email notifications that make me wriggle with delight. Wishing everyone lots of peanut-butter-sexy time, and you can take that to mean what_ever_ you choose. :-D_


	46. Eamon's Recovery

CHAPTER 44

They emerged from the temple solemnly, reflecting on everything that had gone before. It was late morning, and Lyra thought they could probably make it back to Bodahn's caravan before the day was out. As they passed, the carcass of the dragon brought a thought to Lyra's mind. She caught her fellow Warden's eye and gestured to the behemoth.

"Dragon scales _are_ better than drake scales..." she said slowly to Alistair.

His eyes lit up in comprehension, knowing exactly what she was referring to. "I love when you talk armor to me. Let's skin us a dragon."

While they were busy with that, Leliana, Wynne and Brother Genetivi returned to the dragon's lair and packed their spare pouches with coins and gems. Brother Genetivi spoke of improving Denerim's Chantry and publishing some books about their finding of the Urn, and Leliana told them of her idea about the tavern she might purchase someday. Wynne didn't speak, but quietly wondered how she might go about finding her son, Rhys, and planned to use some of the coin to help speed the process.

Leliana carefully removed a few pieces of artwork from their frames and rolled them tightly as gifts for Sten. She found a small bar of silver to complement the gold one for Zevran, and several pieces of jewelry for Morrigan. Leliana also picked out a dagger of fine dwarven make for Bodahn, and another for Sandal. Wynne happily took several of the more precious books, and Brother Genetivi took others. It was truly a wealth of riches, with things for everyone.

"Lyra, I just realized...you haven't taken anything for yourself," Leliana said to her as they came out of the cave. Lyra was elbow deep in dragon scales, and she pushed a stray lock of hair out of her face with the side of her arm, smearing a bit of blood on her face. Kestrel nosed his way into the meat, and she pushed him away from the dragon irritably. It was starting to decay, and the smell was less than appetizing.

"I don't need anything, Leli. Alistair and I took some coin, and we're planning on having armor made. I'm quite happy with that. But will you pack an extra pouch or two with coin for everyone else? I want them to have some, too...there's an empty pouch in my pack." Lyra dove back into the dragon, using her dagger to urge the skin away from the rest of the body with strategic flicks of her wrist.

Leliana went back into the cave to get the coin that Lyra requested. On a whim, she decided to put one of the tiaras in her pack...just in case.

In the end, Lyra and Alistair each had a large roll of dragon skin, covered with hard, shiny scales. They rolled them carefully and slid the rolls behind their packs, where they made for an unwieldy load. Lyra was glad they didn't have far to go to meet Bodahn, who should be halfway to Orzammar by now.

After a quick wash of hands and faces in the hot spring, they were ready to leave, and they made their way carefully back through the catacombs that wound through the mountain. They encountered a few more dragonlings, but no more drakes, and soon they emerged into the snow dusted valley, and then into the woods surrounding Haven. Lyra and Alistair consulted their map, and they headed north toward the pass above Lake Calenhad, hoping to intercept Bodahn along the way.

That afternoon they encountered wagon tracks, and by sunset they had found Bodahn. Morrigan looked quite glad to see them, and Zevran actually picked Lyra up and spun her around, much to Alistair's discomfort, belied by an uneasy smile. Leliana hugged Sten happily, and the qunari patted her awkwardly, the look on his face not altogether unpleased. Bodahn promised a royal supper for everyone, and Leliana told everyone the entire story of their adventure, embellishing the dragon attack and describing their encounters in the Gauntlet. She strummed her lute as she did so, and the whole thing had the air of a great tale. She left out the actual location of the Urn... Brother Genetivi had requested it, and they all agreed. The Urn should be protected, and if it remained a legend to the world, perhaps that was all to the good. Lyra snuggled with Alistair as Bodahn served them a beef stew that Alistair pronounced better than anything he'd ever had, ever ever. Zevran flirted with Leliana, who surprised Lyra by flirting back, albeit not very seriously. Morrigan continually shot glances in Alistair's direction, but didn't have anything to say, and Alistair seemed not to notice.

After the meal, Leliana distributed the gifts they brought back for everyone, and they were well received by all. A soft smile covered Sten's face when he saw the artwork Leliana had chosen for him, and Morrigan immediately donned the necklace and bracelets chosen for her. Zevran admired the gold and silver bars, commenting on the clean lines and purity of the metal. The divvied up coins, and everyone was well pleased to be included in the treasure.

Alistair asked Bodahn if they could resupply from his wagons with coins found in the dragon's den, and they made arrangements to leave in the morning for Redcliffe. Now that the Ashes had been obtained, Arl Eamon could be cured...and Alistair did not want to put it off for one more day.

Brother Genetivi decided to go with them to Redcliffe, and make his way back to Denerim after that. Morrigan approached the Wardens quietly after dinner and asked to accompany them, as well. Lyra and Alistair agreed, although Lyra privately wondered if Morrigan had an ulterior motive. Alistair actually seemed rather glad that the witch was coming, which also bothered Lyra...a little. Wynne planned on coming as well, to apply her healing skills if necessary. Kestrel, of course, followed his Wardens.

They set off in the morning and traveled all day. Morrigan quietly offered to bolster Wynne's and Genetivi's stamina, and the Mage accepted gladly...the witch enabled her to walk more quickly, and even to run without pain or discomfort in her joints, and a trip that would have taken two days took only one.

Lyra was slightly ill at ease, and it took her most of the day to figure out why. Morrigan was not fighting with Alistair...at all. She made polite conversation, and even when Alistair cracked his sometimes dumb jokes, Morrigan either didn't say anything, or actually bantered back in a friendly manner. At first Lyra thought it was nice, but as the day progressed she began to wish they would snark at each other, just a little. Morrigan's low-cut blouse was beginning to get on her nerves, and she compared it in her mind to how she must look in her full armor. Morrigan was more voluptuous than she, and somewhat better endowed. Her arms were slender and unmuscled, her skin unmarred by sun and wind...it made Lyra worry.

She put it out of her mind as they walked into Redcliffe and made their way up to the castle. A knight standing guard alerted the household, who came pouring out to meet them. Conor ran to Alistair, who scooped him up and tossed him into the air, drawing a shriek of delight from the boy. Bann Teagan hugged Lyra warmly, and even Isolde looked happy to see them.

"Teagan...Isolde. We found the Urn," Alistair said, his eyes shining. Isolde's eyes lit up with fierce joy, and Teagan looked fit to burst.

"And the ashes?" Isolde said urgently.

"Yes," Alistair said, a huge smile splitting his face.

"Then we have no time to lose! Come, everyone, let us see if they are the cure we have been praying for!" Teagan said, and they all hurried to Eamon's bedroom en masse. Mother Hannah was sent for, and the Revered Mother soon joined them. Alistair paced quietly in the hallway, and Lyra sat in a chair, jiggling her leg with nervousness. She had only met Arl Eamon once, when we was a young girl, but Alistair's depth of feeling for the man was apparent, and she was almost as on edge as he was. When Mother Hannah said they were ready, Lyra signaled Alistair, and he joined them in the room, an apprehensive look on his face.

Lyra brought forth the pouch of ashes and handed it to Mother Hannah, and Wynne stood on the other side of the bed, ready to assist should her help become necessary. She wasn't even tired from the long journey...although Morrigan sagged quietly in one corner, her eyes shadowed. She did not seem willing to leave, however.

Arl Eamon lay on the bed, his eyes closed. His skin was sallow, and his bones stood out in stark relief. He was being kept alive by some unknown force, but it had still taken a toll on his body, and he appeared closer to death than ever. His gray beard was limp, and his eyes were sunken and deeply lined, the skin fragile and thin. Isolde clasped his hand, looking fiercely upon his face, and Mother Hannah began to chant and wave her hand slowly back and forth over his body. She then poured the ashes carefully into her hand, and began holding tiny pinches of the ashes to his nostrils, allowing him to breathe them in naturally. The ashes were so light and feathery that they drifted easily into his airflow as Mother Hannah worked her fingers back and forth, and after a few repeated applications her hand was empty, and they all sat back to wait.

No one spoke as the moments passed. Alistair gripped Lyra's hand, and she rubbed his arm soothingly, but her eyes were as worried as his. If this didn't work...

Arl Eamon's eyes fluttered open, and he began to cough, his body wracking and bending. Isolde's eyes misted, and she laughed a little, tears slipping down her cheeks. Lyra felt a lump in her throat, and she put her around around Alistair's waist. He gripped her tightly, and Kestrel nudged their legs, wanting to be part of their embrace. Brother Genetivi murmured quietly to himself, an amazed and happy look on his face, and Lyra suspected he was praying.

"Isolde?" Eamon whispered, and she pressed her forehead against his hand.

"I am here, my husband," she whispered in a glad voice.

"And Teagan..." Eamon said in a weak voice. "I...was ill?"

"More ill than you know, brother. But you are recovering. We have a healer here who will help you...and then you must rest. There will be time in the morning to tell you everything that has been happening."

"Yes...I would like to rest. I feel so much better...I was wandering through nightmares for an endless time..." A look of panic came to his eyes. "Conor! Where is my son?"

Conor poked his head out from behind Teagan, and he stepped nervously toward the father who had been unable to leave his bed for months. Eamon's eyes lit up, and he opened his arms. Conor went to him, and Eamon pressed his grizzled cheek against Conor's hair, looking stronger already, his eyes closed. When he opened them, he kissed Conor's forehead, and then looked around at everyone assembled. His eyes lit on Alistair, and he smiled warmly at him.

"Alistair?" Eamon said in a wondering voice.

"Yes, it's me, Eamon," Alistair said.

"You...became a Grey Warden, did you not? I was so proud to hear it, my boy."

"Yes, I did...and we must speak with you, Eamon-"

"There will be time for that tomorrow," Wynne said firmly. "Eamon must rest...although I dare say he will be fully recovered by morning, if not back to his full strength quite yet. I imagine another week of taking it fairly easy will have him right as rain." The healer's tone was suggestive, and people began to file out of the room. Isolde stayed, but Teagan guided Conor out quietly, and handed him off to Valena for putting to bed.

Teagan turned to the others. "I imagine you are hungry, and wish to wash and change...I apologize for my rudeness-"

"No need, Teagan, we were as eager as you were to see the ashes cure Eamon," Lyra said, and he smiled at her.

"Your old rooms are prepared for you - there has been no one here since you left. I will see about food for you. If you would like to change or wash, do so, and then come down when you are ready," Teagan said, and headed toward the kitchens.

Alistair followed Lyra to "her" room, and they slung their packs on the floor, standing the rolls of dragon skin in the corner. They changed quickly, and Lyra found one of the servants in the hall. There were more of them, now...it appeared the population of Lothering was settling nicely into Redcliffe, and the castle had a few more workers. She asked for hot water for a bath, and then she and Alistair went to the kitchens, where Teagan had set out bread, fruit and vegetables, cold chicken and new cheese. Morrigan, Brother Genetivi and Wynne joined them after awhile, and did their best to eat before the Wardens consumed everything in sight. Lyra began feeding Kestrel from the table, and then Teagan gave him a whole bowl of meat scraps from the kitchen, which the Mabari consumed gratefully.

After their impromptu dinner, the Wardens retreated to their room and helped each other wash off the dust of the road, and then settled in to sleep off their exhaustion in a real bed, with real sheets and real pillows. Being clean, having had enough dinner and curling up in complete comfort without waking for guard duty was like finding a little corner of heaven, and they slept without waking through the whole night.

* * *

><p>"Loghain is mad with power, Eamon. I tell you, he means to take the throne," Teagan said earnestly. Eamon stroked his beard, and shook his head.<p>

"This is most upsetting. I've known Loghain for years...and he's never been power hungry. I just don't understand it."

They were seated in the main hall - Lyra, Alistair, Morrigan and Wynne sat around two edges of the table, and Teagan and Eamon occupied a third.

"Perhaps this will help convince you, my Lord," Lyra said, and handed Eamon a sheaf of paperwork. It included the Grey Warden poster from Denerim that had led them to the Pearl, the paperwork from Berwick, the papers she had taken off of the mercenaries in Lothering, and the copies of troop movements Leliana had obtained from the Chanter's board. She outlined briefly how they had obtained each piece of information, and ended by telling Eamon of Howe's massacre of her own family. She remained calm through the telling, although inside she was a mess of rage and unshed tears, and Alistair squeezed her hand in support under the table.

"Arl Howe plotted to remove the Couslands, who had influence second only to King Cailan. With them gone, and the Blight looming, _and_ the removal of the Grey Wardens... Ferelden would have little choice but to depend on Loghain's military prowess and Anora's ruling hand. It was a nearly perfect plot that would have succeeded had Morrigan's mother not saved Lyra and me from Tower Ishal," Alistair said, throwing Morrigan a grateful glance, and Morrigan bowed her head slightly.

Eamon frowned, and leaned his head on his hand, rubbing his temple slightly. "This is a lot to digest all at once. It's amazing what can happen when a man sleeps for a few months."

Teagan sat forward. "What now, Eamon? Loghain must be stopped. He is dividing the country at a time when we need to band together...this irrational fear of Orlais must be put to rest. What do you suggest?"

Eamon sighed, and looked at Alistair. Wynne nodded slightly, and Lyra gripped Alistair's hand tighter. Alistair looked rather as if he'd swallowed a bug, and from the greenish tinge to his skin Lyra wouldn't have been surprised if he'd started throwing up.

"I agree with you, Teagan...Loghain cannot be allowed to continue this assault on Ferelden. Civil war is not what this country needs right now. We _need_ a stronger candidate for the throne...someone who has a more legitimate claim than Loghain. Teagan and I have a claim through marriage, but we would seem to be opportunists, no better than Loghain..." He paused, and looked at Alistair again. Teagan caught his glance, and his eyebrows went up.

"You intend to put Alistair forward as king?" Teagan said with interest in his voice, making it more of a statement than a question. Eamon looked at Alistair and Lyra.

"Your claim is through blood, Alistair...I know your feelings, but you have a responsibility to Ferelden."

"Don't I get any say in this?" Alistair griped, and pressed his hand against his forehead. "My birth was _not_ my choice. I was raised without expectation of this, without training. All my life I was told I had no claim to the throne, and I never wanted it..."

"I know, my boy. And I did not take you into my home as a 'good backup plan'. Maric did care for you, and we both wanted you to have a normal life if possible. But now, Alistair...can you really let Ferelden suffer under a tyrant's rule?"

Alistair raked his hands through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut. Lyra's heart was breaking for him, but she said nothing, knowing he had to come to this decision on his own. She squeezed his knee, hoping he knew that whatever choice he made, she would support.

"I have a responsibility as a Warden, as well. That's an oath I cannot break, and Grey Wardens normally try and stay _out_ of politics."

"If you do not take the throne, Alistair, Loghain _will_, and I would not be surprised if he calls for your execution to remove the possibility of an uprising in your name. Lyra, you are in danger as well...as the last surviving Cousland, and also a Grey Warden, you will be hunted. We cannot waste time and manpower fighting him...I will call a Landsmeet, and we will allow Ferelden to choose who will rule."

"Then it's decided, whether I want it or no. I'm to be king," Alistair said irritably, and Eamon raised an eyebrow.

"Would you abandon Ferelden, Alistair?"

"I... no, my Lord." Alistair was glaring daggers into his lap, and Lyra felt a lump in her throat. He looked so unhappy, she wondered if she had been wrong to push him the way she had. She reached for his hand, and he grasped it as if it were a lifeline.

"Then I will make the arrangements," Arl Eamon said. "It will take a month or so before the Landsmeet can begin. In the meantime, I suggest you travel to Orzammar and complete your treaties, and meet me in Denerim when you have finished with the dwarves. I will spread word of Loghain's treachery and Alistair's ability, and gather the support of the nobles." Lyra nodded in agreement, and Eamon continued.

"Teagan, go to Denerim. If what Lyra and Alistair have said is true, Loghain will have returned from Amaranthine by now, and will be planning to formally name himself reagent. You must be there to witness this, and you can begin to spread the word in Denerim about Loghain's plans."

"Very well, brother. I will prepare to leave," Teagan said, and strode from the room.

"And now, if no one minds, I would like a word with my nephew," Eamon said, and Wynne and Morrigan rose from their chairs and took their leave. Lyra hesitated, and then patted Alistair's leg and exited quietly.

Unseen to Eamon and Alistair, a raven flew into the room and landed on a beam high in the ceiling. It cocked it's head, listening closely.

"What are your feelings toward Lyra, Alistair?" Eamon asked, rather sternly. Alistair groaned and laid his forehead on the table.

"I love her, Eamon," he said brokenly. "I want to marry her. I don't know what to do, or how that plays into all of this."

Eamon sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers.

"I thought as much... you are not subtle. This is not a bad thing, Alistair...in fact, this is a very, very strong political maneuver indeed. You are an unknown entity. You _look_ like Maric, and somewhat like Cailan, which is to your favor...but no one knows you exist, and they have nothing but our words to assure them you are of kingly make. But the Couslands...they are a well respected family, and Lyra is the last of their line. Arl Howe's massacre of her family will win her much sympathy support. Allying yourself with her is very possibly the best thing you could do to win the throne." His tone was analytical, and it made Alistair sit up in confusion.

"I don't care about _who_ she is, Eamon. I didn't fall in love with her for that."

"Regardless, the other nobles _will_ care about who she is. I advise you to marry her. Get an heir on her quickly, so that the succession may be continued. We can hold the ceremony before you leave Redcliffe-"

"Ahhh. Eamon, there's one thing..." Alistair said uncomfortably, and told his uncle about the inability of Grey Wardens to bear children. Eamon was visibly upset by this.

"And you, Alistair? Can _you_ sire a child?"

"I...don't know. I suppose it might happen, with a woman who wasn't also a Grey Warden."

"Then Lyra is not suitable. An heir must be our first priority. Let me see...there is always Anora, although in five years of marriage she did not provide Cailan with an heir..."

"Anora?" Alistair yelped. "I'd rather face the Archdemon, naked and without a weapon!"

Eamon sighed. "Anora is not suitable either, fortunately for you. Bann Alfstanna of Waking Reach may be a good match. I'll send a messenger-"

"No, Eamon, please!" Alistair pled. "Can't something be done? I _need_ Lyra...she knows how to rule, and I don't. I can do it, but only if she is by my side."

"Alistair, I do not wish to see Ferelden left in the same predicament it is currently in. The bloodline _must continue._ Understand this," Eamon said dangerously.

"Give me a day, Eamon. Please. I'll come to some sort of a decision," Alistair said, his voice begging. "Don't send a messenger yet."

Eamon sighed. "The only thing you can do is end it, Alistair. I will allow you the day to do so, and a messenger will depart in the morning for Waking Reach." He stood and walked around the table, squeezing Alistair's shoulder, and then exiting.

The room was empty, and a fire was crackling merrily in the grate. Alistair dropped his head into his hands, and his shoulders began to shake. A low, choking sob escaped his throat, and the raven flew from the room.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thanks to those who have favorited or signed up for alerts! I'm really glad to have so many of you on board. :-D Many thanks to those who have reviewed - MagicalMimi, The Original Frizzi, Pharin of the Dunedain, Berserkians Fury, livelaughluvmusic, KnightOfHolyLight, and Angelakane...think that's everyone since the last chapter. I've been sucked into youtube lately, watching modded game scenes, and have found some wonderful inspiration there. I cannot WAIT to get my Ultimate Edition disc and stop playing the game in "vanilla" mode... :-D_


	47. Alistair's Question

CHAPTER 45

Eamon strode from the room. He was slightly saddened that he was forcing Alistair to do this, but if the boy was going to be king, he would have to get used to difficult decisions.

"Arl Eamon, a word," Morrigan's voice called.

Eamon paused in surprise, looking at the witch curiously. He gestured to his office, inviting her to speak to him privately. Morrigan stepped within, and he shut the door.

* * *

><p>"Alistair? I saw Eamon leave...Maker, Alistair, what's wrong?" Lyra asked, real worry in her voice. He was seated at the table where she'd left him, and he was shaking slightly. He turned to look at her, and the pain on his face amazed her...he looked as though he'd just lost his best friend.<p>

Alistair stood, and drew her into his arms. His eyes were red, and he was trembling a little. He held her silently, pressing his body against hers, desperate to feel her. He buried his face in her hair, and she began to feel uneasy...his hug had a finality about it that was scaring her.

"Alistair..." she said, forcing a laugh into her voice.

"Let's go for a walk," he said, and she nodded, quiet fear growing in her heart.

They wandered out of the castle, not touching, simply walking beside each other. Alistair kept his hands behind his back. The sudden distance between them bothered Lyra, and an inkling of what Eamon and Alistair might have talked about began to worm it's way into her mind. Ice formed in her stomach, and a dull headache began to buzz between her ears.

The silence grew, and Lyra stopped paying attention to where they were going. Her feet shuffled along, dragging her to a place she was certain she wouldn't like. Alistair was dragging his feet as well, and her mind rebelled against the thoughts that were creeping in, unbidden. She thought about their time in the dragon's cave, the last time they had made love, and her throat began to hurt as she struggled not to begin crying. She thought about his touch, the way his strong hand felt wound in hers, his breath on her cheek, the look on his face as they fell asleep in each other's arms. She thought of the moment in the Korcari Wilds, when Alistair had realized they could gather allies against the Blight...he had swung her around, joyfully, and she remembered thinking how very transparent he was. She thought about the rose he had given her...it was still in her pack, rolled in cloth, and every time she opened the roll to look at it, it fell apart a little more, brittling with age. She thought wryly of the irony in that...

It became too much, and she stopped walking, almost unable to breathe. Alistair moved a few paces ahead of her, and then stopped and looked back.

"Lyra?" Alistair asked worriedly.

"You're leaving me, aren't you," she whispered, and shock crossed his face.

"I..." he said, and then his face crumpled. "I didn't know how to tell you..."

Lyra wiped the tears from her face, and sniffled. She lifted her head proudly, taking a deep breath to calm her aching voice, and attempted a light-hearted tone.

"It's because of the crown, isn't it...you need an heir."

He nodded slowly, his face miserable.

"I understand, you know," Lyra said, trying to keep her voice unconcerned. "I suspected this might happen...but I tried not to think about it."

"Lyra...please. I-"

"There's nothing to talk about. I won't make a fuss...you're free to marry whoever you like. I wish you many years of happiness, and plentiful children," she said, and the edge of hurt crept into her voice. She spun, and ran, praying that he wouldn't follow.

Of course, Alistair _did_ follow. He tore after her, and she ran, agile as a young deer, through the trees along the shore of the lake, getting ahead of him. He tripped, stumbled, caught himself, and ran on. His fumble allowed her to get a bigger lead, and he ran doggedly after her.

"Lyra, please! Please listen!" Alistair called frantically, but she continued to run, and then she began to pull herself up into a tree. He arrived at the tree behind her, but she was already eight feet up and continuing to climb.

"Will you come down, please? Maker, I don't know _how_ you do that. Lyra, we _need_ to talk!"

She continued to climb, heedless of the man calling to her below.

"Don't ignore me, please...this is killing me, Lyra!"

"It's killing you?" she shouted down from the branches. "It's killing _you?_"

Silence, and so Alistair tried again.

"Yes, it's _killing me_! I love you, Lyra! I love you more than my own life...if it were up to me, I wouldn't take the crown! I want nothing more than a life with you, no matter where it is, no matter what we're doing. We could go to Orlais for all I care - live in sin and eat cake." His voice strengthened.

"But it isn't up to me, Lyra. We're Grey Wardens...and the Blight is our first priority. If it weren't for that...I would climb up there, drag you down, throw you over my shoulder and walk away from _all_ of this!"

She said nothing.

"Eamon says I have the day, and then he's sending a messenger to Waking Reach...I think he's going to try and make me a match of Bann Alfstanna. Please, Lyra-"

"What do you want me to say, Alistair? Let's run away together? Let's spend the day making mad, passionate love so I can kiss you goodbye tomorrow with a smile on my face? _I can't do that, Alistair!_"

"I'm not asking you to-"

"Then what are you asking?" Lyra said challengingly, naked pain in her voice.

"I'm...I'm..." he dropped his head, and then looked up again.

"Damn it, Lyra, I don't know what I'm asking! Maybe all I'm asking is for you not to run away from me. Please come down. Please?"

"No." Lyra sniffled, and hid her face in her hands. She was fairly certain he couldn't see her from where he was, but with her luck, she would drip tears on him.

Alistair sighed, and then sat down with his back against the tree, preparing to wait her out. He had the day, he would spend it with her, no matter what that might mean.

Lyra listened to the sounds of him sitting. Minutes passed, and he didn't leave.

She began to get annoyed. Her perch was not exactly comfortable, and she hadn't been prepared to spend the day in a tree. She settled in as comfortably as she could, determined to wait him out.

It might have been an hour they sat there before Alistair spoke.

"I don't want to marry Bann Alfstanna." His voice was sad, and Lyra didn't answer at first. He said nothing else, just continued to stare off across the lake. Birds called in the distance, and a curious honeybee buzzed around Lyra's nose. She batted it away, irritably. It was beautiful out...damn it. She would have preferred rain.

"I don't want you to, either," Lyra said finally, quietly.

"I want to be with you," he said. "I want to marry _you_, Lyra Cousland."

Her breath caught in her throat. It was not the way she had envisioned a proposal...herself up in a tree, thirty feet from the man she loved, him on the ground, staring at anything but her, and not actually free _to_ marry her, or even to ask the question.

"I wanted to ask you...but our future is so uncertain. I didn't know if we'd actually get the chance. So...I didn't. And now I can't ask," he finished. His voice was quiet, and dejected.

He stood, and brushed off his pants. "I love you, Lyra. That hasn't changed. I'll be back. If I get back here and you're not in this tree, I'll be very, very put out." He strode off, and Lyra listened to his footsteps dying slowly away.

* * *

><p>Alistair returned about half an hour later, carrying a basket of food and a blanket over his arm. He began to lay everything out beneath the tree, and when it was ready, he sat down and opened the basket.<p>

"Any hungry Grey Wardens up there?" he called.

Silence met his ears, and after a moment his heart fell. She had left, after all...

Lyra dropped to the ground, landing lightly on the balls of her feet. His eyes lit up, and he started to stand to hug her, and then hesitated and sat down again. She brushed invisible bark from her pants, and lowered herself to her knees on the blanket.

Alistair drew a loaf of bread from the basket, tore off a chunk and handed it to her. She picked at it, and then her natural appetite kicked into gear, and she began to eat ravenously. He ate, too, and since the basket had been packed by a Grey Warden, there was more than enough food.

"Bann Alfstanna is a good woman," Lyra said noncommittally.

"That's good," Alistair said listlessly. "I don't want to talk about her."

"What _do_ you want to talk about?" Lyra said quietly. She wiped a bit of butter from her chin, and tore small pieces of cheese from her chunk before popping the crumbles into her mouth.

"No running off," Alistair said sternly.

She rolled her eyes, and shook her head. "Fine. No running off."

"I want to talk about us. About what this will mean for us," he said hesitantly.

Lyra laughed nastily. "Us? There is no 'us' anymore. You're marrying someone else."

"Which means about as much to me as it does to that someone else. It's a political decision. It has absolutely nothing to do with my feelings."

"So, what...I'll be your _concubine_?" She spat the word at him.

Alistair sighed. "You'll be my love. The one I _wanted_ to marry and _would have_ if this stupid world spun in the direction it should. It isn't my fault that I can't marry you. But I don't want to lose you, Lyra...even if we aren't married in the eyes of the world, you're the only one in my heart, and you're the only one who'll ever _be_ in my heart. Listen, you stubborn, idiotic woman...I may not be able to ask you to marry me, but I can ask you everything else."

He got up, and knelt beside her. He took her hand, and she narrowed her eyes at him. He nearly lost his nerve when he saw the look on her face, but he pulled his courage out of his shoes and forged blindly ahead.

"Lyra Cousland...will you stay with me forever, through thick and thin, through right and wrong, through Archdemons and bitchy queens?"

She lowered her eyes, and seemed like she was about to speak, when he cut her off.

"Will you allow me to serve you breakfast in bed for the rest of your life? Will you let me tuck you into bed each night, and then climb in beside you? Will you hold my hand in the rain, and travel with me to Orlais to get sick on cake and stinky cheese?"

She began to giggle. Encouraged, he continued.

"Will you rule a country beside me, and acknowledge that the woman I marry is merely a placeholder for the woman I truly wish to be with? Will you fight with me, argue with me, slap me if I sass you, and kick my ass with a sword? Will you wear my socks, and listen to me complain when I find holes in the toes because you've been walking around in them without your shoes on? Will you walk with me arm in arm through the streets of Denerim, and let the world know that although I may marry another, the truth is that you are the one I choose? Will you allow me to carry you across the threshold of the place where we make our final home, wherever that may be? Will you sleep beside me each night, wake up with me each morning, let me kiss you, let me spoil you, let me-"

"Yes. Now shut up, you fool," she whispered, and kissed him passionately. He drew her into his arms, and the relief that spread through him was stronger than any wine, and left him just as giddy. They clung to each other, and Lyra's heart was as light as a feather.

Moments passed, and they finally drew apart. Lyra traced her fingers on his shirt idly, and then looked up into his eyes.

"And what will Arl Eamon say about this?" she said challengingly.

"I really, really don't care. Let the world talk. You've made me the happiest man alive," Alistair said firmly, and she giggled, feeling just as giddy as he was.

* * *

><p>Alistair and Lyra walked into Eamon's office, hand in hand. He looked up, surprised to see them, and set down his pen.<p>

"Eamon...look. I need to tell you-"

"Alistair, wait. Please, allow me to speak first." Eamon stood and faced away from them, his hands clasped behind his back. So commanding was his presence that Lyra and Alistair were hushed immediately...they may have been Grey Wardens, and Alistair may have been the future king of Ferelden...but they were still barely into their twenties, and the man before them was a leader in his middle years, more than used to having his words obeyed. It cowed them not only a little, and they both mentally steeled themselves for a fight.

"My boy...I may have been hasty before. Nothing needs to be decided today...let us obtain the throne for you, first, and worry about protocols later. I apologize for putting you in such a difficult position. Your friend, Morrigan, spoke with me...she told me how great your feelings are for each other, and reminded me of my own young wife. Isolde and I have not had an easy time of it...but we are in love, which is why we persisted when everyone around us tried to prevent our marriage. You would think I would remember that," he said softly. "Forgive me, Alistair. And Lyra, allow me to apologize to you, as well. You are obviously a very capable, intelligent young woman, and I would do well to remember that. Alistair would not choose unwisely."

He held out his hand, and Lyra took it hesitantly, and then put her arms around him and hugged him.

"Thank you, Eamon," she whispered, and he returned her hug warmly. When she withdrew, he held out his hand to Alistair, who shook it gladly.

"If I may ask a favor of the both of you..." Eamon said. "Do not make any... plans, just yet. Please, keep your options...open."

"We will," Alistair said with a happy smile.

Indeed, it seemed a small price to pay in exchange for hope.

* * *

><p>"Morrigan talked to him? <em>Morrigan<em>?" Lyra asked incredulously as they left Eamon's office.

"I suppose so...that's what Eamon said." Alistair was as puzzled as she was.

"What does Morrigan get out of this?" Lyra said, thinking.

"Oh, come on now. She can't be _all_ bad," Alistair said. "Maybe she really just wanted to help."

Lyra quirked her mouth sarcastically, and then felt bad. Maybe Morrigan _did_ just want to help. And really, who was she to judge, after they had had such an amazing change of fortune?

It didn't matter. They were on reprieve, at least for now...and perhaps it would be unnecessary for Alistair to marry anyone else after all. She still held her political ties, and even if they only had approximately thirty years left to their lives, thirty years was enough time for a lot of things to happen. An heir could be found...through adoption, or marriage, or some other method.

It was only the beginning.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I simply can't keep these two apart. It's tough trying to seperate them...they keep running back to each other like spoiled kids. Little brats, why won't they do what I say? Kids today. Sigh. ;-) Needless to say, this chapter turned out a little differently than I intended. A lot happier. Sometimes my characters call the shots, and all I can do is relate what happened. _

_Thanks to Berserkians Fury, The Original Frizzi, MagicalMimi, and a big welcome to Yuki-sama12 for an impassioned take on Eamon's decision! So fun to get that review. Love it. :-D I hope you're feeling better about it now, Yuki-sama12...I know I am!_

_My 9th wedding anniversary is on Thursday, so perhaps I'm feeling a tad sentimental, and that just might be what inspired Alistair's proposal. Whatever it was, I hope you enjoy. Much love to all. :-)_


	48. The Mountain Keep

CHAPTER 46

Lyra and Alistair caught Teagan in the yard, as he was preparing to ride out with a small company.

"Teagan!" Lyra called, and hurried over to his side. "You're leaving today for Denerim?"

Teagan nodded. "Eamon wishes me to get there as quickly as possible. With horses, it should only take three or four days." He pulled his riding gloves from his hands, and looked at her expectantly.

"How may I serve you, Lady?" he said respectfully, and she took a deep breath.

"Before you go...I should tell you about something that happened to me while we sought the Urn," Lyra said.

She outlined her encounter with her father, and how Teyrn Bryce had told her that Fergus was alive, and in Denerim. Teagan was amazed at her story, but he grasped the advantages of having Fergus' support immediately.

"If my vision of my father was true, then I am _not_ the last Cousland, and Fergus is now Teyrn of Highever. So if you have time, you should look for him," Lyra said. "He would be a staunch supporter of Arl Eamon's plan...he will have no love of Loghain, and as Eamon said, our family influence should hold quite a bit of sway. He can only help your cause." She pressed a letter into Teagan's hand. "And...could you give him this, if you see him?"

Teagan nodded, and tucked the letter into his pouch. "I will seek him out. Thank you, Lady Cousland." He bowed grandly, and Lyra smiled and hugged him goodbye. She had grown to truly like Teagan. Alistair shook his hand as well, and Teagan smiled warmly at his nephew.

"Don't worry, Alistair...you're not nearly as hopeless as you might think," he joked, and Alistair rolled his eyes.

"But keep Lyra around," Teagan added with a grin as he climbed into his saddle. "She'll make an excellent queen!" He spurred his horse, and the group rode out.

Lyra's heart twisted, but she smiled and they waved Teagan off.

Alistair took her hand and kissed it. "You're the queen I would choose, even if someone else is mother to my children," he said softly. Lyra hugged him close, needing the comfort.

* * *

><p>A soft knock on Morrigan's door caused the witch to look up from her grimoire.<p>

"Come," she called, and Alistair pushed open the door. He was hand-in-hand with Lyra, and Morrigan quickly closed the book.

"Wardens." Morrigan said cordially. They looked at each other, seeming to silently ask who should go first, and then Lyra spoke.

"We want to thank you, Morrigan. For talking to Eamon." The grateful look on her face made Morrigan feel slightly uncomfortable, but a soft, joyful feeling filled her to see them looking so happy as a result of her actions. It cemented her course in her mind, and she resolved to study her books closely.

"Oh. You are welcome. 'Twas not fair of him to commit Alistair to a marriage before he is even crowned. Much can happen...for all we know, Loghain will have the two of you executed on sight when we arrive in Denerim next," Morrigan said off-handedly, inspecting the silver bracelet she wore.

"Ahhh...yes, that _could_ happen..." Alistair said uncomfortably.

"Indeed. We shall have to watch our backs...carefully," Morrigan said, and pointedly opened her books again. Lyra and Alistair got the hint, and crept quietly out of the room.

* * *

><p>"So, you cannot <em>marry<em> Lyra, as you wish...because she cannot carry a child," Morrigan said thoughtfully, and Alistair nodded.

They were on their way to Orzammar, after another night in Redcliffe castle. Lyra and Wynne were walking ahead of them, talking quietly. Kestrel was walking beside Lyra, and must have scented a hare because he bounded off the path suddenly, barking.

"I imagine Lyra is none too happy about this," Morrigan said wryly, and Alistair sighed.

"Neither of us are. I was planning on asking her to marry me after we left Orzammar...she doesn't know that, but Eamon killed that plan. Seriously, Morrigan, _what_ did you say to him to change his mind? I wasn't raised a noble, but Lyra tells me breeding is apparently one of the most important things to them. Ensure their 'noble blood' doesn't die out. Eamon certainly _looked_ as if he had every intention of getting me married to Bann Alfstanna, or someone else equally-not-Lyra."

"I merely told him that he was a fool if he thought _you_ could rule the kingdom without your precious bedfellow. You must admit, Alistair, you are not a leader."

"I've been doing pretty well, I think," he said, slight hurt in his voice.

"'Tis true. But you _are _stronger with Lyra beside you. Tell me you do not agree."

"It's true," he admitted. "We work well together."

"And she has the proper education and sensitivity to the nobility, which you lack. As you said, the only thing you really have to offer is your blood - your 'accident of birth'. You will need all the help you can get," she said with a smile, and Alistair grinned.

"That would have offended me before, you know," he said.

"Well, 'tis good to see that you understand me more, now. When I speak the truth, 'tis merely truth - not always offense."

"Not _always,_" he joked. They walked in companionable silence for a few moments.

"Morrigan," Alistair said. "Thank you. Really. You've helped me so, so much...I don't think I'll ever be able to really, truly thank you. Not the way you deserve." He smiled at her, and his dimples peeked through.

"I...you are welcome, templar. 'Tis what friends do, isn't it?" Morrigan sounded uncomfortable.

"It is. I'm glad we've put our differences aside... and I'm very glad to know you," Alistair said, and on a whim, he pulled the witch into an embrace, and kissed her cheek gently. Morrigan stiffened, and when he released her, she backed away, a torn, confused look on her face.

"I am hungry," she said suddenly, and turned and stalked off into the forest. Alistair watched her go, wondering if he had offended her with his forward display, and then jogged forward to join Lyra and Wynne.

* * *

><p>"And then he said he didn't care <em>what<em> Eamon or the world thought, and frankly, I don't think I do, either," Lyra said to Wynne. They were walking ahead of Morrigan and Alistair, who seemed deeply embroiled in their own conversation. Lyra tried not to let that bother her. Their closeness was odd, and it made her uneasy, although she_ did_ trust Alistair. It just...was strange.

"But the world _will_ care. You know that well, Lyra," Wynne said. "You will not be able to be as open with your relationship as he thinks...the woman he marries _will_ be the queen, and that woman must appear to be his wife in all things. Ferelden will not understand, no matter how much he may wish it otherwise."

Lyra sighed. "I know." Kestrel came running up with a hare in his mouth, and Lyra took it and ruffled his ears. "Think you can find a few more of these, boy?" she said, and he barked and ran off again.

"But I admire the way Alistair wants to stay with you. You are very lucky, my dear..." Wynne said, a trace of sadness in her voice. "Not every woman has a man whose convictions are so clear."

"He's wonderful, Wynne," Lyra said with a smile. The older woman nodded, and her thoughts drifted to her past as Lyra talked about the things she and Alistair would do in the future. After a time, Alistair joined them, and the young couple began to joke and tease each other, much to Wynne's amusement.

* * *

><p>While Lyra was standing guard that evening, she was shocked to see a flaming object hurtle to the earth, miles away, and even from their distant camp she felt the earth reverberate beneath her boots. She considered waking the others, but nothing else happened, and so she kept her patrol, and Wynne relieved her in the early morning hours. She crawled into the bedroll beside Alistair, and shivered a little as his arms went around her in his sleep.<p>

"Don't forget the frogs," he mumbled.

"What about the frogs?" Lyra whispered, delighted. He sometimes talked in his sleep, and she was determined that one day they would have a full conversation without him realizing it.

"The frogs..." he mumbled again, and then snored. She kissed his cheek gently, and snuggled closer into him. He always claimed he could not remember doing it, but when she joined him in the middle of the night he often mumbled crazy things. He'd even kissed her once, and she was convinced he was wide awake...but he denied knowledge of it in the morning.

The sun rose, they all woke and packed up camp, and Morrigan appeared from out of the woods. She had not returned after running off the day before.

"Morrigan! There you are. Breakfast?" Alistair said, and offered her a ham sandwich. She looked at him in alarm, and turned and ran into the woods again.

"What was _that_ about?" Lyra asked, and took the sandwich out of his hands to take a bite.

"No idea. The day Morrigan stops acting weird is the day the Darkspawn are defeated forever," Alistair said, and kissed her lightly.

Their trek was much the same as the day before. They encountered a small group of Darkspawn in the afternoon, and Wynne didn't even need to draw her staff - so quickly did Lyra and Alistair dispatch them. They camped again that night, and Morrigan was still missing.

"Where do you think she is?" Alistair said, a trace of worry in his voice.

"I really couldn't tell you," Lyra said. "What did you two talk about, anyway?"

"Not much...I just told her we were grateful for her help with Eamon, and she said she only did it because I'd be hopeless as the king if you weren't there to help me."

Lyra pondered this, but couldn't find anything that would cause Morrigan to leave. She shook her head, puzzled, and wondered if they'd see the witch again at all.

From the safety of the trees, a small wolf watched their interaction. Her eyes shone in the moonlight, and she laid down in the bracken, keeping an eye on things in the camp. Kestrel padded out to where she lay and licked her muzzle gently, then lay down beside her to share his warmth. After a time, Lyra called to him, and the wolf nudged Kestrel away, not wishing to be discovered. He left reluctantly, and the wolf padded away to hunt.

The following day, Morrigan appeared as they walked down the path. She had a hard, cruel look on her face, and no one questioned her sudden appearance. The witch seemed uninclined to talk, and no one pushed her. She mellowed a few hours later as they walked, and even participated a bit in some very casual conversation, but she remained jumpy, and refused to banter with Alistair.

In the afternoon, Lyra caught a glimpse of a crater, just visible from the main roadway. She pointed it out to her companions, and told them about the fiery object that had fallen from the sky two nights previous. Curiosity brought agreement to take a look, and they hurried off the path toward the depression in the earth.

It was approximately 30 feet wide, and about as deep. The earth was scorched, and young plants were torn asunder around the edges of the crater. Blackened streaks marred the reddish brown dirt, and in the very center was a lump of something rough and black.

Lyra climbed carefully down into the hole, and inspected the something that had caused this small disaster. It was not very large, but when she picked it up it was surprisingly heavy. She hefted it experimentally, and turned it over in her hands.

"What is it?" Alistair called.

"I don't know...a rock, maybe?" Lyra suggested. "It's really heavy, though."

"You say it fell from the sky, in flames? 'Tis a fallen star, then," Morrigan said.

"Could be, I guess. I've never seen a star...not up close, anyway," Alistair said. "What do you think, Wynne?"

"I suppose it's possible. We studied the stars at the Tower, and I know that sometimes stars change their places in the heavens or even disappear altogether, but it never occurred to me that they might fall from the sky."

"It's sort of...metallic," Lyra said. "And melted."

"Are stars made of metal?" Alistair wondered. Morrigan shrugged.

Lyra climbed carefully out of the crater and handed the curiosity around. Morrigan wanted to bury it, and return it to the earth, saying it had clearly wanted to get as deep as it could. Wynne suggested they bring it with them and give it to the Mages. She was certain an object like this could have very magical properties, although she could not feel anything overtly magical about it. Alistair said he thought it would make a great coffee-table piece, and Lyra rolled her eyes at him. They decided to keep it, in any case, and Alistair was unanimously elected to carry it. He found space in his pack, and they moved out again.

Morrigan built her own fire that night, away from the others. She did not contribute to their dinner, and she even tried to start a fight with Alistair when he cordially invited her to share their meal. Lyra furrowed her brow. This was more like the Morrigan she remembered, but...more hostile. She wondered what on earth was wrong with the moody witch.

Kestrel went and laid by Morrigan's side that night, and after everyone was asleep, the witch cuddled close to the Mabari.

* * *

><p>"Orzammar... at last," Lyra said. It was the morning of the fourth day of their travels to the dwarven stronghold, and Lyra was glad to see the end of the journey. They were walking up a steep mountain path, wrapped warmly in their cloaks. Such was the elevation that snow covered the ground, even though it was early summer.<p>

It felt like they had come to the end of the world. Lyra thought back to the month of Guardian, when Duncan had arrived at Highever, and her life had changed forever. So very much had occurred since then...she had become a different person, seen much of Ferelden, met new friends and made new enemies. She had fallen in love with a man who promised to love her forever, even though he couldn't marry her. She had seen good magic, and great evil.

She wondered what waited behind the massive gates of the mountain.

"Lyra, look!" Alistair's voice brought her out of her quiet reverie. "I see Leliana! Bodahn is here. They made it!" Kestrel took off, barking happily, and they all hurried across the snowy ground to where the merchant's wagon was parked. Sandal waved madly, and Leliana ran toward them, her cheeks pink with excitement and cold.

She threw her arms around Lyra, laughing, and then around Alistair, who hugged her tightly and kissed her cheek.

She laughed, and said, "Oooh, Alistair. Such affection!"

He grinned. "What can I say? I'm in a good mood."

Morrigan listened curiously, her arms crossed, and watched out of the corner of her eye.

Leliana hugged Wynne next. Their embrace was more restrained, yet spoke of a deep bond. Wynne was obviously very fond of the bard, and Leliana was clearly very fond of her as well. Morrigan observed this, but still said nothing.

They were reunited with their companions, and a few happy, conversational minutes followed. Then Sten pushed his way forward, and spoke.

"Warden Lyra. I have found Faryn, the man who may have looted my sword from the forest by Lake Calenhad. Please, come with me and speak with him...I have been waiting for your arrival before I approach him with this." He stood straight, and at attention. Lyra noticed a muscle twitching in his neck...the only movement in his otherwise still frame. Clearly, he was very, very tense.

"Of course, Sten...let's go now," she said, and followed the qunari to a spot near the great doors set into the mountain. Various merchants were set up outside the doors, but rather than hawking their wares, they were milling around, talking in irritated tones. Lyra slowed as she caught the tail end of a conversation.

"...won't open the doors. It's insane! How are we supposed to sell, if they're not letting people in?" one dwarf gesticulated. Another dwarf, a female, shook her head and crossed her arms.

"It ain't right. We surfacers have to live too..." Lyra and Sten continued on past, and Lyra lost the ability to hear what they were saying. _Are they not opening the doors? _she thought worriedly. They _had_ to get in to Orzammar!

Sten stopped before a tall, thin man with messy red hair and sunken eyes. He smiled brightly as Sten and Lyra approached.

"Ah, welcome! Please, take a look at my wares... I have many treasures from across all of Thedas. Necklaces, for beautiful women? Allow me to show you some of them..." Sten began to growl, and Faryn cut off his words with a hesitant look at the qunari warrior.

"Are you Faryn?" Lyra said, and the merchant nodded, a look of surprise on his face.

"Yes, I am he. Tell me, who recommended my wares so well that you remember poor Faryn's name?"

Sten continued to growl, and Lyra put a calming hand on his chest. He seethed with rage.

"My my, he _is _a big fellow, isn't he?" Faryn said, looking a bit nervous.

"Do you have any swords for sale?" Lyra said.

"Swords...yes, I do, as a matter of fact. Allow me to show you-"

"I am looking for a sword. It is big enough to fit my hand, and has a golden colored cross hilt. The blade is blue steel, and had a serrated edge along one side. It is a qunari blade. Speak, little man, before I end your life," Sten said, and Faryn's mouth dropped open. Lyra sighed inwardly...apparently, Sten did not wish to be diplomatic.

"I...did have such a blade, yes. But alas, I sold it."

Sten picked up Faryn and shook him. "Who? Who did you sell my sword to, you... bloody arse pimple?"

"Sten! Put him down, please!" Lyra shouted, and Sten did so, without much gentleness. Faryn stepped back in dismay, and looked at Lyra.

"As you can see, Faryn...my friend is rather attached to the sword you sold. Please, can you tell us who you sold it to?" Lyra said cordially.

Faryn looked distrustingly at the qunari, rubbing one shoulder where Sten had gripped him. "I don't know. Merchants aren't supposed to be assaulted in the common market. I could file a complaint, have you thrown out, you know. I rather think I should be compensated...I might have injuries."

That was more than Lyra cared to deal with. "Sten, tear his arms off," she said. Sten advanced threateningly.

"Fine!" Faryn shouted, and backed away in alarm. "The dwarf's name is Dwyn. He said he lived in Redcliffe!"

"You're not serious," Lyra said, thinking of all the times they had already been to Redcliffe. If only...she sighed. It seemed she was meant to cross Ferelden over and over again.

"I bloody well _am_ serious. Now get away from my stall, before I bring this before the deshyrs," Faryn said, and Lyra led Sten away.

"It's in Redcliffe, Sten. We're going back there when we're finished at Orzammar. We'll find your sword, I promise!" Lyra said fervently, and Sten nodded, his face stoic.

"Thank you for your help," he said gruffly, and strode ahead of her, toward their companions. She shook her head, and followed him.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Yay! Got it done today, even if I did wait until the very last minute. Unfortunately, it's the last chapter I'll be posting for a couple of days. My awesome husband is dragging me, kicking and screaming, out of town for an anniversary vacation away from our lovely children. He's requested that I stay off of this website while we're away, and I've promised to limit my email communication to a few times per day. So, if you PM me, I WILL get back to you...but just not within minutes, as is my usual way. Doesn't mean I don't love ya, though. :-)_

_Since it's awfully late for me, and I still have to pack some bags and then knock myself out with Nyquil, I'll end it here, and just say thanks to everyone for reading, reviewing, subscribing, favoriting, and all that wonderful stuff. I love you all. You make me happy. :-D Next stop, Orzammar. Oh, BTW, if you have ideas for Orzammar that you'd like to see, I'm open to suggestions. I have a general idea of what's going to happen, but maybe it's good that I'm away from this story for two days. I need to work out the plot._


	49. Within the Mountain

CHAPTER 4_7_

"Do you know who you're dealing with? I am the emissary of Teyrn Loghain himself, regent of Ferelden! By keeping me out, you do great insult to our nation's greatest hero!"

The dwarf at the door rolled his eyes and sighed. Lyra and Alistair walked up the huge stone steps just in time to hear the tail end of the conversation that was going on. The others gathered below them, clustering on the steps. Other than Bodahn and Sandal, they were a complete party once again. The man who claimed to be Loghain's representative was accompanied by only a few others, and was seething in anger at his supposed mistreatment.

"I don't care if you're the king's wiper! No one is allowed into Orzammar at this time." The dwarf spread his feet slightly, and his grip on the huge battle axe he held tightened a bit.

"Why not?" Lyra said, and the dwarf turned to her.

"The Blight has brought a reprieve to Orzammar. Darkspawn activity is down, and so every sodding dwarf or merchant we trade with on Ferelden's surface has been trying to get in. Ironically, during a Blight, Orzammar is one of the safest places to be, since the Darkspawn head to the surface. King Endrin has decreed that no more refugees come in – there simply isn't room. We have to draw the line somewhere."

"But we're not refugees - we have important business in Orzammar. We're Grey Wardens - we must meet with King Endrin regarding this treaty," Lyra said, and handed the guard the rolled vellum. He unrolled it curiously and inspected it as Loghain's man began to rage.

"You can't let _them_ in! They're traitors to the crown! These Grey Wardens are wanted for crimes against King Cailan and Teyrn Loghain! The Grey Wardens murdered Cailan at Ostagar - "

Lyra drew her sword and pointed it at the man's throat. He stopped talking, and a look of fear filled his eyes. "The Grey Wardens were slaughtered at Ostagar, and it is due to Loghain's troops quitting the field. If they had attacked _as was planned_, Cailan _and_ the Wardens would still be alive. Loghain is a filthy liar!" Alistair put a restraining hand on her arm, and she shook him off angrily.

"Kill each other if you wish, but take it off the steps," the dwarf said irritably, although a slight look of amusement twinkled in his eyes. Lyra pressed her lips together, stepped back and sheathed her sword, her eyes sparkling with unspent fury. The guard rolled the vellum and handed it back to Lyra. "Warden, you and yours may pass. Go directly to the Chamber of the Assembly, and speak to Assembly Steward Bandalor."

"This is an outrage!" Loghain's representative shouted. "These Wardens should be arrested! I demand to see your superior!"

The guard pressed his lips together in annoyrance, and the massive stone doors began to open. Lyra signaled her party, and they walked through the enormous archway and into the mountain proper.

"How magnificent...these must be the statues of the dwarven Paragons," Wynne said, quiet admiration in her voice. The hall was enormous, with ceilings at least twenty feet high, and massive stone statues of dwarves lining the smooth walkway. Behind the statues, orange lava glowed as it ran through channels cut in the stone. It made the interior of the mountain more than warm, and they removed their cloaks and laid them over their arms as they walked.

High in the walls, windows were cut into the stone, and through them Lyra could see lava flowing slowly downward. It created natural light that lent the interior of the mountain a soft glow, as of torchlight.

"What a remarkable amount of lava...do you suppose anyone ever falls in?" Zevran said, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

"Are you suggesting..." Lyra said incredulously, and he grinned at her slyly.

"The Crows would make excellent use of such a...convenient drop point," Zevran said. "I wouldn't be surprised to find that many people here simply disappear."

"That's awful, Zev," Lyra said with disgust, and he chuckled.

"I am sure the dwarves use it for all kinds of garbage disposal," Leliana put in. "It is a built-in furnace."

"Let's find the Assembly," Alistair said. "And then, let's find the inn."

All around them, dwarves were watching curiously, and some had open hostility on their faces. Lyra felt very, very tall, and very much like an outsider. She tried not to stare...she had seen dwarves before, but to see so many all in one place was odd, indeed. The men were very solidly built, with wide, stocky frames and thick, braided beards, and only stood a head shorter than Lyra. The women were very shapely; Lyra would have given much for some of the curves she observed walking around. They were not that much shorter than elf women, when one came right down to it...Lyra had even seen human women who were just as small, but none had been as curvy. Zevran bowed low to a comely dwarf lass, who smiled shyly and giggled. Even here among the dwarves, it seemed Zevran had more than his fair share of charm.

They asked directions of a guard standing at the end of the walkway, and he pointed them toward a metal gate that led to a small room, where another dwarf asked them where they were bound.

"The Chamber of the Assembly," Lyra said, and the dwarf waved them into the tiny room. They entered curiously, and the dwarf pulled a metal gate shut behind them and locked it with a handle, then began to manipulate a series of levers and knobs. They all jumped in surprise when the room began to grind and shudder, and Morrigan pressed herself flat against the wall and shut her eyes tightly. Through the gate, the floor fell away, and Lyra realized the entire room was rising.

"What is this room?" she shouted over the noise of grinding gears.

"An elevator. It takes you to another place, higher up or lower down," the dwarf shouted back. "You've never seen one?"

"No," Lyra shouted. The dwarf smiled proudly at her amazement.

"Powered by steam, heated by the lava flow. The Engineers' Caste makes all sorts of things...you're in for some surprises, human."

Leliana was watching through the gate, as eager as a child. Wynne was holding on tightly, but didn't look overly worried. Zevran looked slightly nervous, but was trying to seem nonchalant. Sten looked impressed, and Morrigan looked almost ill.

"Are you alright, Morrigan?" Alistair asked, concern in his voice.

She opened her eyes slightly and scowled at him. "I dislike all of this stone. It may be fine for dwarves, but I have no love of tunnels and caves." Kestrel pressed himself reassuringly against her leg, and she seemed to calm a bit.

The elevator ground to a stop, and the dwarf opened the gate to allow them through.

"Follow the path past the Royal Palace, and go up the steps, and then left through the double doors. That's the Assembly," the dwarf said, and Lyra thanked him. They exited the elevator, and right before he shut the gate, she turned back.

"Pardon me, sir...how does one greet someone here? Are there any customs or taboos an outsider should know about?" Lyra asked, wanting to make a good impression. Politics were important, and she had never been educated about the dwarves...or, come to think of it, the elves, either. She thought about that, and decided that she would have to institute an ambassador program after Alistair was crowned. Ferelden was not made up solely of humans.

The dwarf looked a bit surprised, and then nodded slightly. "The proper greeting is 'Stone Met, and blessings on your house.' That's what polite, informed outsiders say. If you're truly interested, go to the Shaperate and speak to the Shaper of Memories...he can tell you more about our culture. Not many outsiders think of it."

Lyra thanked him, and reported the words to the rest of them, imploring everyone to be polite and walk softly. It was vital to Ferelden that they gain dwarven aid, and she didn't want to cause an incident without knowing it.

They entered the Diamond Quarter, which was apparently where the nobles of Orzammar made their homes. The walls sparkled dimly in the soft light, and beautiful carvings adorned the walls. Pillars of stone polished to a high sheen soared to the ceilings. Along the walls, fancy stone doors were carved...Lyra assumed these must be the homes of the nobility. Colonies of carefully cultivated, decorative fungi were growing in beds along the walkways. Sten stared around in fascination.

"Such artistry...I would not expect it of a race that spends much of it's time fighting and drinking," he said in passing.

"And what about you, Sten? The qunari are just as misunderstood," Leliana said. "We see your people as brutal warriors, but you have told me there are many artisans and craftspeople, and your culture is as rich as ours. Why shouldn't the dwarves have beautiful things?"

"This is true... People are not simple. They cannot be summarized for easy reference in the manner of:'The elves are a lithe, pointy eared people who excel at poverty," Sten said thoughtfully.

"Well, that depends on who you talk to," Zevran said with a grin.

Kestrel whined, and Lyra and Alistair glanced back to see Morrigan holding her stomach, a look of panic on her face. She was paler than usual, and beads of sweat decorated her upper lip.

"She really doesn't look good," Alistair muttered, and he hurried to her side.

"Here, Morrigan, let me help you," Alistair said, and she shied away from his arm.

"Touch me not, templar! I need none of your help," she snarled.

"What on earth is wrong with you lately?" Alistair exclaimed, irritated. "I don't know what's going on, but you're obviously angry with me for some reason. Morrigan, you look like you're about to keel over. Just lean on me, and as soon as we get to an inn I'll leave you alone." He put his arm around her firmly and hooked her right arm around his shoulder. She clenched her eyes shut, but allowed it.

"Lyra, why don't you continue to the Assembly...I'll take Morrigan somewhere else. I think she needs to lay down. I'll come find you at the Assembly once I get her settled," he said, and she nodded.

"I'll come with you," Wynne said, looking at Morrigan with a healer's eye. The three of them walked away from the group and toward a guard who was standing near a wall, and Lyra faintly heard them asking about an inn, and then they headed back toward the elevator. Lyra gestured, and the rest of her companions followed her down the walkway and toward the Chamber of the Assembly.

"Alistair is so very chivalrous," Zevran commented innocently. "You are very trusting to let him hold Morrigan so closely, my flower."

"Nothing's going on with Morrigan and Alistair, Zev," she said offhandedly, but her stomach tightened a little, remembering all of the little interactions she had observed... the long talks, the way they had seemed to become friendlier as time went on. She resolved to talk to him about it later...just to find out exactly_ what _was happening betweem them. Friendship was all well and good, but Morrigan and her sexy outfit and her touseled hair and her cat-like eyes smudged with kohl made Lyra nervous.

"As I said, my flower...you are very trusting. If I had a woman as beautiful as you, I would not look in another direction for one moment," Zevran said.

"Stop scaring her, Zevran," Leliana scolded, and they climbed the steps leading up to the Chamber of the Assembly. Lyra pushed open the doors, and they were met inside by a guard.

"Stone met, and blessings on your house," Lyra said, hoping she had gotten it right. "We are looking for Assembly Steward Bandalor."

The guard bowed low, and said "Follow me. I will take you to him, Warden."

_Warden? __How does he..._

The guard led them through a short hallway, and then knocked on a simple door. A dwarf with a gray beard opened the door, and then said "Thank you, Gretch. I will speak with the Warden privately." The guard nodded, and made his way back outside. The dwarf turned to Lyra.

"Welcome, Warden...I am Assembly Steward Bandalor. I understand you are hoping to speak with King Endrin regarding a treaty?" Lyra nodded, bemused.

"How did you know...?" she asked.

"I received a message from the gate when you entered Orzammar. If you had not come directly to see me as you were instructed, you would have been detained, and it might not have gone well for you," Bandalor said frankly. "I also know that some of your companions have gone to Tapster's Tavern in search of accomodations. Tapster's does have a few rooms for rent, and they may be able to board you...but you might prefer rooms here at the Assembly. Tapster's caters to dwarves, and the beds..."

"I see. Yes, we would appreciate it if you have...more fitting accomodations," Lyra said, her head spinning. "If I may, Steward Bandalor, after our main business in Orzammar is completed, I would be most interested to see exactly how you received word about me and my companions so quickly. It boggles the mind somewhat!"

"I will be happy to show you anything you wish to see, Warden, but for now, let us arrange your appointment with King Endrin, and then I will show you to your rooms." Bandalor consulted a large leather book on the desk, and then nodded to himself. He picked up a small device on the desk and spoke into it, and Lyra could faintly hear a faintly buzzing voice coming through with a reply. She was fascinated...obviously, this was the method of communication, and she wondered if it was magic that made it possible. Bandalor replaced the device on the desk.

"King Endrin can see you tomorrow afternoon. He invites you to lunch with him."

"That would be very pleasant, thank you," Lyra said, and Bandalor made a note in the book and then picked up the device again.

"Give me Tapsters, please," he said, and then after a moment he said, "Bron, this is Bandalor. Please send the Wardens back to the Assembly when they arrive, and tell them they will find rooms here instead." He replaced the device, and then walked back around the desk.

"If you will follow me, please...I'll show you to your rooms," he said, and the group trailed after him.

* * *

><p>Alistair walked into the room and dropped his pack on the floor. Kestrel stood up and nosed his hand, and Alistair knelt and ruffled the Mabari's neck.<p>

"You made it!" Lyra said gladly, and he stood and pulled her into his arms.

"Yep...as soon as we walked into the tavern, a dwarf appeared and told us to go back to the Assembly. That'll teach me to be proactive," he said with a wry smile.

"They have some sort of instant-communication device. I would love to find out how it works...I asked Leliana if she thought it might be magic, but she told me dwarves don't use magic. Apparently, they're resistant to it, because of the exposure to lyrium," Lyra said, and Alistair nodded.

"I learned about that when I was being trained as a Templar, actually. No dwarven mages. I'd like to see that device... Quick communication like that could definitely come in handy," he said thoughtfully. "And now...I don't think we have anything to do until dinner, right?" He leaned down and kissed her gently, and butterflies began to bat themselves around the walls of Lyra's stomach.

"I don't think so..." she murmured when his lips left hers.

"I have some ideas, if you're interested..." Alistair captured her lips again, and Lyra felt herself melting into him.

"It _is_ a pretty large bed," she said, and he chuckled.

"Thank goodness...I wasn't too excited about sleeping at Tapster's. The beds are short!" He grinned and then he unsnapped a buckle on her breastplate, and she helped him, hurrying out of her armor. His splintmail joined her leather and plate in short order, and soon they fell back onto the bed, wearing only the soft clothing that protected their skin from the buckles and edges.

"I...love..._beds_," Lyra said, a happy groan escaping her lips. "I never knew how much I loved beds until I didn't have one."

"Camping can get a little tiresome, I agree," Alistair said, and smoothed back her hair gently. She nudged her leg in between his, and he curled his leg around her. They relaxed into each other, and she nestled her head into the hollow of his shoulder, loving the feel of his strong arms around her. She felt so safe...

"Morrigan is _not_ doing well down here. I think she's afraid of being underground," Alistair said, tracing random patterns on her back as he spoke. Lyra felt a wave of annoyance that he should be bringing Morrigan up _now_.

"Hmmm," Lyra said, not trusting herself to say much more.

"I hope she's alright. I'm worried about her," Alistair said, a note of concern in his voice.

"Uh-huh," Lyra said stiffly.

"It makes sense, when you think about it...she's such a free spirit, you know? She's lived in the Wilds all her life, not like us, cooped up inside walls."

"Right," Lyra said.

"I left Wynne with her...Wynne said it was likely just some kind of phobia. I think I'll check on her later, though," Alistair said thoughtfully. "Maybe bring her some dinner."

Lyra sat up and turned away, swinging her feet over the side of the bed so they came to rest on the floor. She felt something like anger simmering in her stomach.

"What's wrong?" Alistair said, his brow furrowing. Lyra hesitated, and then turned back to look at him.

"You and Morrigan have gotten awfully close," she said frankly.

"Huh, I guess we have. Weird, huh?" Alistair said with a grin. "She's actually really nice - smart, and she's got a unique perspectives on things. I know, we didn't get along at first-"

"No, you didn't. And now, here's you and me, all alone for the first time in days, and all you can talk about is poor Morrigan and her fear of being underground!" Lyra snapped. "What's going on, Alistair?"

He looked flabbergasted. "What do you mean?"

"Don't give me that. You know exactly what I mean," she said coldly.

"I...really don't. You're acting really strangely, Lyra."

"Oh, _I'm_ acting strange. When you first met Morrigan, you hated her. You told me she was a complete and utter bitch!"

"Well, I've gotten to know her since then," he said, annoyance in his tone. "You've seen us talking-"

"Oh, yes. I've seen you talking. Is that all it is?" Her voice was bright with anger.

"What? Are you suggesting-"

"Answer the question, Alistair."

"Of _course_that's all it is! All we've done is...talk! Okay, but let's not just focus on me. What about you and Zevran?"

"What about us?" Lyra said, just the slightest bit uncomfortable.

"What's with him always calling you 'bella flor'?" Alistair said sarcastically, imitating Zevran's sultry tone. "And 'my flower'. You're not _his_ anything, or are you?"

"How can you accuse me of that?" she said, shocked.

"Pretty much the same way _you_ can accuse me of something with Morrigan. I'm just trying to make a point-"

"Zevran and I are _friends!_" Lyra shouted.

"And that's all Morrigan and I are, too!" Alistair shouted back. Lyra put her head down angrily, thinking of Alistair's arm around Morrigan's limp figure. Alistair sighed, exasperated.

"What is _with_ all the females around here lately? First Morrigan, now you-"

"Don't you compare me to her!" Lyra snapped. "I am _nothing_ like her!"

"Well, you're certainly _acting_ enough like her," Alistair snapped back. "You know, one pain-in-the-ass attitude is just about all I can handle right now."

"Fine," Lyra said coldly. "I'll just go, then. Enjoy your room." She stood and grabbed her boots off the floor and marched to the door.

"Oh, fine. Leave," he said sarcastically, and she nearly slammed the door, but remembered just in time that this wasn't her own house, and she had no desire to be disrespectful of Steward Bandalor. So she shut it firmly, and then padded down the hall to Leliana's room, fuming.

Alistair stared moodily at the walls for a moment, and then Kestrel whined and scratched at the door. He got up, let the dog out, and then on a whim he headed to Morrigan's room to check on her, and maybe talk about what had just happened with Lyra.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Yay, we're back! I had a beautiful couple of days away with my husband, and together the two of us worked out *most* of what's going to happen in Orzammar. Kind of really excited about this part of the story. :-)_

_If you haven't read WellspringCD's amazing story entitled "The Great Escape" - I highly recommend you look it up. It stars a casteless dwarf and our favorite ex-templar, along with all of their friends. It's long, but a very, very worthy and entertaining read...WellspringCD is a fantastic writer, and it's from her work that I've learned as much as I have about the dwarva. She is a literal font of knowledge, and very kindly shared much of it with me! The greeting "Stone met, and blessings on your house" comes from her awesome story, and she's offered up a lot of ideas and information about living underground that will likely come into play in the next several chapters. Applause for WellspringCD! :-D_

_Thanks to MagicalMimi, KnightOfHolyLight, The Original Frizzi, Angelakane, Berserkians Fury, Mkady, and Quiet Sunshine for reviewing. And thanks to the folks who have favorited and subscribed, as well! It means a lot to know that so many are waiting for updates. :-D_


	50. The Dwarva

CHAPTER 48

Lyra was sitting up on Leliana's bed... her knees pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs, and her face hidden against her knees.

"Lyra...you have to trust him," Leliana said gently. "He's a good man. I don't think it would even enter his mind to seek someone else."

"I know," Lyra said, her voice muffled. "But there's something really unnatural about the way he and Morrigan have become friends. I don't get it."

Leliana ignored her. "And you must not attack him with these accusing questions...I am sure he would have been glad to tell you anything you wanted to know, if you'd approached it differently."

Lyra sniffled.

"What's been going on, exactly?" Leliana said curiously, and Lyra told her about the little ways Alistair and Morrigan had been interacting. Leliana sighed.

"I understand your concern. But ma cheri, if you could only see the way Alistair looks at you...there isn't a doubt in the world about where his heart lies. All of us can see it."

Lyra nodded, remembering the scene under the tree in Redcliffe, when he had asked her everything except to marry him. She hiccupped, and sniffed again as she related the story to Leliana. The bard looked absolutely enchanted when she was done, and Lyra couldn't help but smile a little.

"And this is the man you dared to question? Lyra, Lyra, Lyra...!" Leliana said, pretending to scold her, and then she drew the younger girl into her arms and rocked her gently. Lyra leaned her head on Leliana's shoulder and allowed herself to be coddled.

"Darling, for all intents and purposes you are engaged. You know that, don't you? That's what he was really asking. Go make up, love. Beg for mercy. Blame your 'frail woman's jealous heart'. Tell him he's so virile and good looking that you can't help but imagine that every woman in Ferelden must be panting at his heels," Leliana said with a smile, and Lyra giggled.

"He _does_ attract attention," Lyra said. "If I hadn't gotten to him first, someone would have in very short order." She remembered Bethany Hawke's sweet, heart shaped face.

"But you _did_ get to him first, and he isn't going anywhere," Leliana said firmly. "Now go apologize." She kissed Lyra's cheek gently, and Lyra scooted off the bed and wiped her cheeks.

"Thanks, Leli," she said softly. The bard smiled, and Lyra slipped quietly out of the room. Leliana picked up the book of poetry she'd been reading when Lyra had first stumbled into her room, and lost herself among the Orlesian stanzas again.

Lyra tiptoed back down the hall to their room, and then very softly pushed open the door.

Alistair wasn't there.

Her heart sank. She had a fairly good idea of where he must be, and she curled up on the bed alone, trying not to be jealous, determined to simply wait. She heard a scratching noise at the door, and she let Kestrel in, and then sat beside him on the floor with her arms around him. He licked her face gently.

* * *

><p>"The whole thing is just ridiculous. How could she accuse me of that?" Alistair said angrily. "I mean, I've laid my heart and soul at her feet, and she thinks I'd just...just..."<p>

"Yes, ridiculous," Morrigan said weakly. She looked marginally better than she had before, which meant she was still pale and slightly green.

"I love her so much. Damn her temper," Alistair sighed, raking his hand over his hair. "I don't know. What do _you_ think of all this? Crazy, right? I mean, you and me...it's just silly," he said with a laugh.

"Silly. Yes," Morrigan said. Her mouth twisted a little, and she looked down at the coverlet, settling an issue within her heart.

"I've got to talk to her. I need to tell her all of this, don't you think?"

"Templar, I have less than no advice to offer. Honestly, I am unsure why you came to _me_ with this. I have almost no experience in matters of the heart, and your social strata continues to confound me. If you wish advice, speak with the bard, or the assassin, perhaps."

"Lyra's probably with Leliana right now...and I can't talk to Zevran about this," Alistair said with a frown. "You and me...we're friends, right? I just thought maybe you'd know what I should do. You're a woman, right?"

"My, your powers of observation _have_ improved," she said, a little of her old snark returning.

"Sorry. I mean, you're obviously a woman, you're...um, it's really easy to tell, because..." Alistair fumbled over his words, and then decided it was better to simply stop talking.

"You are an idiot, Alistair," Morrigan said plainly, without hostility.

"I know," he mumbled, and dropped his head.

"Although it pains me to admit it, you are a lovable one. Your Warden is very lucky," she said quietly. "And I believe I finally understand some of the things that have been troubling me."

"Um...glad I could help?" Alistair said uncertainly. He stood, and turned to go.

"Wait, templar," Morrigan said, and she put her arms around his waist and held him tightly, leaning her head on his chest. Alistair was shocked...and then he hugged her back hesitantly. After a moment, Morrigan withdrew, and then she kissed his cheek gently.

Her lips were incredibly soft, and she smelled like some sort of wildflower. Alistair's heart picked up a little, and he backed away in alarm. A wave of cold panic ran through him. Morrigan laughed to see him so discomfited.

"Oh, do not look so frightened. After what you did to me on the journey here, 'tis only fair that I return the favor. Know this, Alistair... As much as I might have wished it otherwise, I _have_ come to care for you a little...you are not as detestable as I first thought. You have a good heart, and any woman would be lucky to call you her own. That woman is _not _me," she said firmly. "And 'twill never be me." _I understand this, now,_ she thought to herself. _But it does not change my duty._

Alistair nodded, and looked at his shoes. "You've turned out to be a pretty good sort, Morrigan. Thanks," he said, and one corner of his mouth pulled up in an approximation of a grin. Morrigan waved him out, an irritated look on her face. He went, and she reached into her bag and pulled out one of the grimoires.

* * *

><p>Bandalor met him in the hall as he headed back to his room.<p>

"Warden Alistair, I was just coming to inform you... there are no kitchen facilities here in the Assembly, but I have arranged for the delivery of dinners in your rooms for all of you. Food will be arriving in about an hour...have you found the bathing room?"

"Uh...no," Alistair said, and Bandalor showed him where everything could be found. The bath was quite impressive...it seemed the dwarves had a system to bring hot water directly to the tubs with a series of pipes, and a drain to carry the used water away. Bandalor also showed him something he called a 'toilet', which was apparently the dwarven answer to a traditional outhouse.

"Into clean water? Really?" Alistair said skeptically.

"It isn't potable water - we have a filtration system that purifies some for drinking, more for washing, and uses non-potable water for this purpose," Bandalor said, an amused smile on his face. "Other systems take water to our gardens and what farms we can manage close enough to the city. I thought perhaps you might not be familiar with our facilities. Wardens come to Orzammar often, which is why we have these quarters, and most of them need this tour I'm giving you now. Of course, most of them are only here for a day or so before they head into the Deep Roads. Your order has the highest respect of the dwarves, Warden Alistair. The Darkspawn are a constant threat to our way of life down here...the Blight never ends, for us."

Alistair's brow furrowed. When this was over, he would have to see about sending help to the dwarves...it wasn't fair for their race to have to combat the Darkspawn threat alone. He thanked Bandalor, and the dwarf bowed and exited. Alistair followed, and then walked back to his room.

When he pushed open the door, Lyra was sitting on the bed, waiting for him.

"I'm sorry -" they both said, and then paused.

"Let me go first," she said, and he started to protest, and then remembered that she had sort of started it. He moved to sit beside her on the bed, and took her hand gently in his own. She took a breath.

"Alistair, I didn't mean to be angry with you. I'm sorry for doubting you...I'm a fool. The idea of you and Morrigan together is really silly, isn't it?" she said with a small laugh, and he was slightly uncomfortable, remembering Morrigan's lips on his cheek, and the scent of flowers.

He realized she was waiting for an answer. "Oh, yes. Very silly," he said, and squeezed her hand gently. Lyra tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, clearly uncomfortable.

"You two have just been spending so much time together, and then when you started talking about her, and I was hoping it would just be you and me for awhile..."

"I understand. I'm sorry, Lyra," he said, and kissed her forehead. She leaned against his shoulder, and he put him arms around her. _This_ felt right...felt real. An image of Morrigan flitted through his head, and he shoved it aside viciously.

She snuggled into him, and they cuddled and talked until their dinner arrived. Lyra wondered if they should check on the others, and she made a quick round to see how everyone was doing. They were all happily settled, and so she and Alistair spent the remainder of the evening in the pleasantest way they could imagine...in each other's arms.

* * *

><p>The next morning, breakfast was delivered to their rooms, and Alistair commented that they must know of Grey Warden appetite because the food was plentiful. It was strange, however...Lyra was fairly certain that the bread was made of something other than wheat...potato, perhaps? Along with this, there were slices of a meat that was vaguely reminiscent of pork, a porridge that she was fairly certain was made of lichen, and mushrooms that has been cooked in fat and well seasoned. Alistair dove in, too hungry to care, and he informed her that it was actually quite good. She tasted everything with trepidation, and then began gobbling alongside him. There was even breakfast for Kestrel...the dwarves had thought of everything.<p>

When they had finished, there was a knock at the door, and Alistair opened it to reveal a young dwarven woman who introduced herself as Nerav Helmi. She was a very pretty and well dressed young dwarf with smooth dark hair and a serious face. Nerav informed them seriously that she was the third daughter of the second matron of House Helmi. _Such titles..._ Lyra thought. _Politics are obviously very important here. Good to know._

"I have been asked to take you on a tour of our city. Will you follow me?" she said, and they collected their companions, all except Morrigan, who refused to leave the safety of her room. Lyra was relieved, and felt a little guilty for feeling that way.

Kestrel whined at Lyra, clearly wanting to stay with Morrigan, and then the Mabari jumped up onto the bed beside the witch. She patted him, and then said, "I would like it if he stayed with me today. 'Tis up to you, of course...you are his mistress."

"If you don't mind, I don't," Lyra said, but felt a tiny bit resentful that her Mabari should prefer Morrigan's company to hers.

Nerav led them out of the Assembly and began to talk.

"The Diamond Quarter is home to the eighty noble families who are part of the Assembly, as well as the Royal Palace, and the Shaperate. All noble families can trace their roots back to a great Paragon, who has done something worthy of becoming a venerable ancestor, remembered forever." The Diamond Quarter was filled with casual traffic - dwarves going about their social business. Many dwarves bowed to the group as they passed through. There was no more of the hostility of the day before...nothing but respect decorated the dwarven faces. Lyra nodded in return to those who smiled or bowed to her.

The Diamond Quarter was beautiful in the way of those who have money and prestige. Nerav led them to the Shaperate, explaining that it housed the memories of the dwarva.

"Dwarva?" Lyra said.

"Our word for our culture. You call us dwarves, but we are the dwarva," she said simply, and Lyra nodded.

They met Czibor, a Shaper of Memories, and he showed them the records that indicated their visit to Orzammar had been recorded in lyrium. Lyra was amazed...they didn't use ink at all, it was all done with lyrium. She had never dreamed such a thing was possible. Wynne wanted to stay and talk with Czibor for awhile about the unique application of lyrium, and so she remained behind, promising to meet them later.

"I shall take you to the Commons, next. The Proving Grounds can be accessed from there, as well as many fine shops. The Guild Hall is there as well, where the leaders of the various castes meet." She led them back through the Diamond Quarter, and Alistair spoke up.

"I keep hearing this word...'caste'. What is it, exactly?" he asked curiously.

"It's a system of rank and profession, founded by the seven brothers who founded the dwarven empire, ages ago," Nerav said. "I don't remember all of their names...the Shapers could tell you. Everyone is born into a caste, and it determines what they will do in their lives."

"Most appropriate," Sten said. It seemed that he really approved of the way Orzammar conducted their business, and Lyra wondered if the qunari were very similar in their approaches to society.

"What are the different castes?" Lyra asked.

"There's the Noble Caste, the Warrior Caste, the Artisan Caste, the Smith Caste, which is sometimes also called the Engineer Caste-"

"So they're the ones who make all these amazing things?" Lyra said, and Nerav nodded.

"Then there's the Miner Caste, the Merchant Caste, and the Servant Caste. And then there are the casteless," she said with distaste.

"Casteless? I thought you said everyone has their own caste," Lyra said.

"Well, the casteless sort of _do_ have their own caste, simple because they belong to _no_ caste. They are the descendents of criminals, who are unworthy of the Stone. You could also say there's a Surface Caste, but as far as most of us are concerned, dwarva who leave the Stone to live on the surface are no better than the casteless. They lose their stone sense," she said with a sniff.

_An elitist,_ Lyra thought. "But surely some of these casteless could make good servants, or do menial work-"

"Those roles go to the Servant Caste. There is no room in our society for the casteless. If it were up to me, we would wipe out Dust Town altogether," Nerav said with venom, "...but our population is dwindling, and King Endrin is not ready to remove a source of 'breeding females' just yet." She sounded as if the subject was quite the sore spot, and so Lyra dropped the conversation. Behind her, she could hear Zevran and Leliana talking animatedly about something, and she rather wished she were back there with them, instead of up in front with stuffy Nerav. Lyra resolved to find out more about the casteless, and what role they might actually play in society, since theirs was apparently undefined. But Nerav was clearly _not_ the one to be asking.

They returned to the elevator, and Nerav took them down to the Commons. She made mention of the various sights, the shops, and Alistair pointed out Tapster's Tavern.

Orzammar was a bustling city, and here in the Commons people were moving quickly about their business. Hawkers called to the passersby, imploring them to come and buy everything from clothing to weapons to jewelry to furniture. Lyra smelled sizzling meat, and her stomach began gnawing on itself. They stopped to buy some strips of meat on sticks from a vendor, and Nerav informed them that it was a meat called Nug. Lyra recognized it from breakfast. It was tender and delicious, and took the edge off of her persistent hunger.

"Better than street sausage from Denerim," Alistair joked. "I never liked thinking about what might've been in it, although there was a certain wicked pleasure in eating it."

"Nerav, is there a Musician's Caste?" Leliana asked, and Nerav shook her head.

"No, but our musicians belong to the Artisan Caste. I am sure we can speak with them, if you have an interest," Nerav said, and Leliana nodded enthusiastically.

"I would like to see these artisans, as well," Sten said somberly, and Zevran agreed. Nerav suggested they go there next, but Lyra hesitated.

"Is there a master smith in the commons that you could recommend, Nerav?" she asked, and Nerav pointed her toward a large shop with double doors thrown open wide.

"Smith Janar is one of the best. I'm sure he can help you with whatever you require...would you like to see him, while the rest of us go on to the Artisan Guild?" Lyra agreed, and Alistair stayed with her while the rest moved off.

"What are you thinking of?" he asked curiously, and she reminded him of the metallic rock they had found in the crater.

"Maybe he'll know what it is, if nothing else."

"Good idea. Let's go get it," Alistair said.

* * *

><p>"I don't know about a rock that might have fallen from the sky...but I do know ore, and this is fantastically strong. See the sheen? It's obviously been heated to an extremely high temperature. And it's very, very hard...a weapon made of this metal would be sodding near unstoppable," Janar said. He was turning the rock over and over in his hands, inspecting it with enormous interest.<p>

"Could you forge such a weapon?" Lyra asked eagerly.

"My lady, if I cannot, I doubt anyone else can. We are masters here in Orzammar...our weapons are the most sought after, over all of Ferelden. In fact, if you'd like, I'll retouch your blades as long as I'm at it."

"That would be very kind of you!" Lyra said, and she and Alistair unsheathed their blades and laid them on the table.

"It will be only a few moments for the blades," he said, and called an apprentice to take the weapons. "However, to make a custom weapon will take a few days. Who will carry it?" he asked.

They looked at each other, and then Lyra said, "Alistair will." He grinned at her eagerly when she said that.

"Follow me, then. I need to measure your arm," Janar said, and Alistair allowed him to take several measurements. They discussed things like heft, balance, and even style, and then Janar nodded.

"I have enough to go on. Return later, and I will have a rough plan drawn up. If you approve, I can begin work immediately, Warden."

"We also have some scales...drake, and dragon," Lyra said. "Do you make armor, as well?" She was quite impressed with the man's work, and he had many apprentices running to do his bidding in the busy shop.

Janar's eyebrows shot up. "Dragon scales? You mean, you actually killed..." Lyra hurried to tell him the story of how it had happened.

"We were merely very lucky," she finished, and Janar shook his head in amazement.

"Clearly, you have the favor of your ancestors. I can indeed make fine armor...but it will take weeks, and I have back orders waiting."

"We don't have weeks, unfortunately..." Lyra said regretfully, and Janar sighed.

"I wish I could accomodate you, but my schedule is full. This weapon, though, I _can_ make."

They chatted for another few moments until the apprentice returned with their blades, well sharpened. Lyra thanked Janar and tried to pay him, but he refused, saying it was honor to serve Wardens. They thanked him and promised to return later to see his drawings, and then strolled out of the shop and back into the commons. Alistair caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his eye, and made a mental note for later on.

"Look there," Lyra said, and pointed a few hundred feet away to a crumbling archway that led down steps to a dark, dirty looking area.

"Looks like a slum if I ever saw one. D'you suppose it's the place where the casteless live - what did she call it, Dust Town, I think," Alistair said.

"Shall we look?" Lyra said. "After everything Nerav said, I'm quite curious..."

"Let's go," he said.

* * *

><p>Dust Town made Lyra want to weep. In contrast to the posh lifestyle of the dwarves in the Diamond Quarter, poverty ruled the gutters with an iron fist. Near the entrance, a young mother sat, sobbing her heart out as she rocked a tiny baby. Beggars sat along the walkways, alternately begging for coins and staring suspiciously at Lyra and Alistair. A few were scrubbing laundry in worn out washtubs, or trying to repair windows or doors. Most simply sat, listless, no few drunk or otherwise inebriated, whether from alcohol, opiates or just plain depression. Lyra caught glimpses of a few hard looking individuals, who fingered blades threateningly as they watched the Wardens go by. Lyra was glad she wasn't alone...she didn't doubt that she would have been challenged, but Alistair's presence seemed to cow them a bit.<p>

One dwarf approached them with an offer to share profits after they had smuggled lyrium to the surface, and Lyra was stunned. She demurred as kindly as she could, and he walked off, disappointed. All of the dwarves here had tattoos on their faces... they ranged from simple boxes and lines to full facial decorations. Even the children had tattoos, and looked up at Lyra and Alistair with pale, hungry faces as they paused in their game of kicking a ball made of old rags through the street. The buildings were crumbling, and everything was in a general state of disrepair, although there was no garbage or smell of rot. Lyra wondered about this, and Alistair pointed out a series of small gardens hidden behind a building.

"They compost it all, to make soil. For food production," he said softly. Indeed, several dwarven women and men were working busily in the gardens. Lyra suspected it might have been the only food some of them had.

"I can't take anymore, Alistair. Let's go," she whispered, and they made their way out of Dust Town.

"It's not fair...if they're not allowed to hold jobs, how can they make a living?" Lyra wondered, and Alistair shrugged.

"It's no wonder they say they're descended from criminals. They don't give them a chance to do anything honest," Lyra said with venom. "How can any culture be so cruel to it's people?"

They made their way back to the Assembly for their appointment with King Endrin. As they passed the tables in the bazaar, Alistair glanced at one of the jewelry vendors, thinking of the small handful of gems he had spirited from the dragon's hoard.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thanks to WellspringCD for info about Orzammar. Alistair's comment about street sausage is a reference to her story, "The Great Escape". Thanks to Berserkians Fury, KnightOfHolyLight, Pharin of the Dunedain and MagicalMimi for their reviews, and as always, thanks to YOU for reading my story. If you're still with me after this long...wow. I salute you. :-D_


	51. Politics, Politics

CHAPTER 49

They filed into the palace for their lunch with King Endrin, and Lyra was impressed. Growing up in Highever, she had known a certain amount of luxury, but this was opulent.

Enormous sheets of colored glass hung on the walls, filled with fantastical swirls and artistically placed bubbles. The floor was polished stone of varying colors and textures, and Lyra could see her reflection in it as they walked. Beautifully carved furniture - some stone, and some made of incredibly rare wood - was placed artistically throughout the suite, which was warmed by the ever-present lava flows. Glowing blue fungi was growing from small niches in the walls, which lent an ethereal light to the atmosphere.

Steward Bandalor showed them to a room with an enormous stone dining table, which Lyra was certain would seat at least two-hundred dwarves. She thought about the noble families, and supposed that it made sense...dwarven politics being what they were, it would never do to exclude nobles or their spouses from a royal gathering.

Steward Bandalor said, "King Endrin will arrive momentarily. He is expecting some other guests for lunch, as well, and his sons and daughter will also be in attendance."

"Thank you, Steward Bandalor," Lyra said, and Bandalor exited the room.

At the moment, the table was set for fifteen, with eight place settings on one side, six on another, and one at the head of the table. Lyra peered at the place settings, and saw small cards with names on them above each plate...she found her own name, third on the far side, seated between Alistair and Sten. She pointed the cards out to Alistair, and he picked his card up to read his name with interest.

"Fancy," Alistair remarked, and set the card back down. "Think we should sit?"

"Not yet," Lyra said. "We should wait for the other guests."

"I have eaten at a king's table before, but I must confess, the king did not survive the meal," Zevran remarked. "There were excellent prawns that night."

"What's a prawn?" Alistair said.

"Imagine, if you will, a very large, fleshy insect that lives underwater, with feelers and legs. Brush with butter, and grill to perfection." Zevran kissed the tips of his fingers.

"They're sort of like really large shrimp," Lyra murmured, and Alistair gagged.

"Large shrimp? As if I know what _that_ oxymoron is. No thank you, I'll stick with nug," he replied.

"Didn't you grow up in Redcliffe? Aren't they a fishing village?" she teased him. "Don't tell me you've never had shrimp."

"Never. And if they look like insects, I'll pass, thanks. I'm not picky, but that's going too far."

Rather than chairs, there were heavy stone benches set close to the table, which was only a tiny bit lower than the tables Lyra was used to.

Lyra turned to the others, and was about to make a comment about the beauty of the palace, when the door opened again, and in strolled Loghain's emissary and his three companions.

"You!" Lyra said in shock, before she could stop the word from coming out of her mouth.

"Me, Warden," the man said smugly. "Loghain will be most happy to see you, when I bring you back to Denerim in chains."

"You'll die first," Lyra said angrily, and he laughed.

"And who will help you stop me, little girl?" he said mockingly.

The ringing of steel sounded all around the room, and the emissary found himself surrounded by drawn blades.

"Ah," he said. Two of his companions drew steel in response, and things might have ended badly had they not been interrupted.

"Is this how all humans treat each other?" a deep, hearty voice said, and Lyra glanced toward the door to see several dwarves entering the dining hall. The emissary bowed low.

"King Endrin Aeducan, it is my honor to meet you," the emissary said. Lyra made a small signal, and the sound of blades sliding back into sheathes filled her ears. She prayed they hadn't _already_ offended the king...the meal hadn't even started.

"King Endrin...Stone met, and blessings on your house," Lyra said, and bowed slightly. Endrin nodded approval at her, and Lyra felt she had won back a few points. The emissary glowered.

Endrin seemed elderly, with white hair and a thickly braided beard, but his cheeks were pink and his eyes sparkled with good humor. Behind him came three younger, adult dwarves. They were all good-looking in the manner of their race...the men's beards were impressive, and they were stocky and strong looking, but the woman caught Lyra's eye the most. All wore fine clothing and carried themselves with nobility...Lyra recognized the breeding. _King Endrin's children_, she thought. Steward Bandalor entered the room last, and shut the doors behind him.

"Warden. Emissary. Thank you for meeting with me today. You are my honored guests while in Orzammar, and should you want for anything, do not hesitate to inform me or one of my aides," King Endrin said. "Now let us sit, and we can begin."

Endrin sat at the head of the table, and his children took the seats on either side. The female sat on his right, and the two males sat on his left. Lyra's party arranged themselves on the same side as the female dwarf, and the emissary's party sat opposite, beside the male dwarves. Steward Bandalor continued to stand by the door, and Lyra assumed he would not be eating. When everyone was seated, Bandalor signaled to a servant, who hurried out through a door that Lyra suspected led to the kitchens.

"Allow me to introduce my sons. Trian, and Behlen." They nodded one by one as Endrin said their names, and Lyra nodded in return.

"And my daughter, Vesta," Endrin said proudly, and Vesta smiled broadly, flashing a grin at Alistair, who she was seated beside. Lyra took in the woman's shining auburn hair, her sparkling hazel eyes, straight, white teeth, clear, healthy skin, and her curvaceous figure...and felt a flash of jealousy. _Rein it in, Lyra...she's a dwarf, for Maker's sake,_ she thought, and gritted her teeth.

"And your names?" Endrin said, pulling his napkin from the table and shaking it out before setting it in his lap. He looked at Alistair.

"Grey Warden Alistair, your Majesty." Alistair bowed his head, and Endrin moved his gaze past him.

"Grey Warden Lyra, your Majesty," Lyra said, and so it continued on down the line, everyone stating their name and either their occupation or where they were from. Lyra had a tense moment when it was Zevran's turn, but he was smooth as always, calling himself 'Zevran Arainai of Antiva City'. She needn't have worried. Morrigan simply said her name, and gave Endrin a challenging look. He said nothing.

"And you?" Endrin said, and turned to the other side of the table.

"Emissary Stuart, your Majesty, representative of the regent of Ferelden, Loghain Mac Tir." Stuart bowed his head, and Lyra's heart began to burn with quiet anger. She bit the insides of her cheeks, praying for control. If ever she needed diplomacy, it was now! She used to be so good at this dance, as silly as it had always seemed to her...what had happened to her easy manners? Maybe it was simply that nothing had been this important to her before.

Stuart's companions introduced themselves as well - a mage, and two warriors. Lyra didn't catch their names, she was too busy concentrating on making her blood stop boiling. A servant placed a bowl of soup before her, and she watched King Endrin for cues, uncertain of the proprieties and if they differed from the tables she had been raised at.

"Please, everyone, eat," Endrin said, and picked up his own soup spoon. After Endrin had begun, Lyra tasted the soup, which seemed to be herbed mushroom in a strong meat broth made with...ale? The taste was interesting, and she forced herself to take slow bites, although her insticts were to pick up the bowl and drink it down, and ask for more. She glanced at Alistair, hoping he was being polite. He was, although he was eating perhaps a bit faster than was entirely proper.

"Wardens, why have you come to Orzammar? You are both quite young...I cannot imagine your Calling is upon you already?" Endrin said, and Lyra set her spoon down.

"Your Majesty, we have come asking for aid. We bring a treaty, signed by your venerable ancestors, promising dwarven aid to the Grey Wardens in times of Blight," she said, and handed King Endrin the roll of vellum. He unrolled it and scanned it quickly.

"Yes...indeed. This is mentioned in the memories. Our aid you shall have, Wardens," Endrin said, and rolled the vellum again and handed it back to Lyra. "It will take approximately a month for our forces to be ready to fight, and then of course, there will be travel time from Orzammar."

Lyra thought fast, thinking of the Landsmeet scheduled for three weeks from now. They were playing a dangerous game of timing. If the Archdemon moved before then, Ferelden might well be lost. If that was the case, the dwarves would be too late to help, anyway. She nodded to King Endrin.

"That will be fine. Thank you, your Majesty...the Grey Wardens have always respected our dwarven allies. It is very good to know you will side with us in this fight," she said formally.

Emissary Stuart spoke up. "Your Majesty, I apologize for interrupting...but Teyrn Regent Loghain sent me here to beg aid, as well. He sends this..." Stuart handed across a roll of vellum, "and bade me tell you it is only the beginning of what he can offer."

"Aid against what, Emissary? Does Loghain also think to stop the Blight?" King Endrin asked with furrowed brows.

"Not the Blight, Majesty... Aid against Orlais. Loghain does not believe this is a true Blight, but he acknowledges the real threat from our neighbors to the west. Ferelden suffered under Orlais's oppression for nearly an age, and Loghain is less than eager to allow them to march back in and subdue us again." Emissary Stuart shot a glance at Lyra, who would have given her left arm to know what was in that roll of vellum.

Endrin unrolled the vellum, and read it through. His eyes widened.

"Loghain would offer us men to fight back the Darkspawn?" he said softly, and Stuart nodded, his face triumphant.

"Loghain acknowledges the difficulties that plague the dwarven people. The Regent promises troops, and with his help, you will be able to retake your lost cities. Think of it, Majesty! The glory of the old thaigs, reclaimed! Your name will live in infamy," Emissary Stuart said, his voice simpering with praise. Lyra pressed her eyes closed. This was indeed a powerful card to play. A servant took her empty soup dish, and replaced it with a plate of meat and vegetables. She hardly noticed what it was, and simply began to eat, her mind working frantically to try and recover lost ground.

"No Ferelden monarch has ever acknowledged our plight...they are quick enough to ask for aid when the Blights happen, but we have been losing ground - and people - to the Darkspawn for thirteen ages. Emissary, your offer is most tempting. But our histories point to this fact: this _is_ a Blight. The signs are there for those with eyes to see," Endrin said, and began to hand the vellum back to Stuart. He held his hand out in a halting gesture.

"Your Majesty, I implore you. Allow Loghain to send troops, anyway. Your people will still need help-"

"And it'll never come if Loghain thinks this isn't _really_ a Blight. Ferelden will be wiped out!" Alistair burst out, and turned to Endrin. "Please, your Majesty-"

"You said your name is Alistair, is that correct?" Endrin said, and Alistair nodded, and began to speak again, but Endrin cut him off with a wave of his hand. He sat back in his chair, one hand to his mouth, and studied Alistair closely, narrowing his eyes. Then his eyes lit up, and he slapped the table, giving a shout of recognition.

"You...you are Maric's son! I would know your features anywhere. Knew I'd think of it! Never forget a face, even when I haven't met it yet," he said with a smile. "I confess I did not know that Maric had _two_ sons. I heard about your brother, lad...I'm sorry. But now, you are to be Ferelden's next king! Well, then I don't need this," he said, and tossed the vellum back at Stuart, who caught it with a flabbergasted look. "I've got the next monarch right here!"

Lyra grinned, unable to help herself. Things were looking up.

"It's not completely assured, your Majesty...I _will_ be put forward as king, it's true, and I believe I can gather enough support to take the throne. But Teyrn Loghain is currently causing...trouble," Alistair said. "I can honestly tell you, if I am crowned, one of my first acts will be to send men to aid the dwarves. I've seen much of your fair city today, and I can't stand the idea of it being swallowed by Darkspawn. Aid you shall have...but in return, I ask that you aid us, as well. As Grey Wardens, against the Archdemon."

Endrin was nodding enthusiastically. "Of course, my boy, of course! Your father and I were great friends, and I have much admiration for the Theirins."

"Your Majesty, the Grey Wardens murdered King Cailan in the battle at Ostagar-" Emissary Stuart said desperately.

"Nug-shit," Endrin said bluntly, and Lyra looked down quickly, hiding her face, which was contorting with laughter. "The Grey Wardens are an honorable order, and they never involve themselves in politics. Well, almost never," he said with a smile at Alistair. "Sometimes politics come for us whether we want them to or not, right, my boy?" He laughed heartily, and Lyra felt like kissing him.

"In truth, King Endrin, it was Teyrn Loghain who quit the field, causing the Wardens to be massacred alongside Cailan," Lyra said quietly, and Morrigan confirmed her story, saying she had observed the entire thing. Wynne corroborated the tale as well, telling of her part in the battle at Ostagar, and Sten offered up his viewpoint after that, having been there with his qunari brethren. Emissary Stuart was growing very red in the face, and Lyra almost felt sorry for him.

"I will not stand by and allow these..._traitors_ to Ferelden to spin such atrocious tales!" Emissary Stuart said angrily. "Teyrn Loghain is a national hero. He was instrumental in liberating Ferelden from Orlais, and that threat is returning. He has only the best interests of the nation at heart, and when these Wardens leave Orzammar I am taking them to Denerim to face Loghain's justice!"

"You'll do no such thing," Endrin said calmly. "I will send a squad with them to protect them if I must. The Wardens must end the Blight, and you'll not touch them."

"You cannot make such an important decision based on nothing but their words, your Majesty," Stuart argued. "Nations are at stake. Alistair is an unknown, and cannot possibly hope to win more support than a famous hero like Loghain. And even if he does, how can he promise troops which he might not have? Please, allow me to tell you-"

King Endrin held up his hand. "Emissary, you have made your point. I have heard enough. In that case, we will allow the Ancestors to decide who shall receive support of Orzammar."

Alistair looked at Lyra questioningly, who returned his puzzled glance.

"A Proving shall be held, and the winner shall receive our royal sanction, and support for the battle against Orlais, or the Darkspawn. This afternoon. Bandalor, make it known," Endrin said, and Steward Bandalor bowed and hurried from the room.

"A Proving, sir?" Stuart asked hesitantly. Lyra listened closely...this was not something she was familiar with.

"A battle to first blood, witnessed by the population of Orzammar. The winner is considered to have the favor of the Ancestors. My aids will inform you of the particulars," Endrin said, and servants took their dinner plates, replacing them with dishes of some sort of confection. Lyra didn't notice this dish, either, and began eating mechanically.

"I...am not a warrior, your Majesty. I am a diplomat," Stuart said stiffly.

"My aids will assign a champion for you. Wardens, you will have a champion as well...unless you would prefer to fight for yourselves?"

"Yes, we'll fight," Alistair said, and Lyra nodded. She only wished it were Emissary Stuart who would be in the ring.

"Very well, then. May the Ancestors bless your causes, and may the best win," Endrin said simply, and rose from the table. He bowed to the group, and exited, trailed by his sons and daughter.

Emissary Stuart stood up, and dropped his napkin on his chair.

"Teyrn Loghain will be _most_ interested to learn that you plan to attempt to take the throne, Alistair," he said softly, and left the room with his retinue. The door closed softly behind him, and Alistair slammed his hand on the table, making Lyra jump.

"Damn it all!" he shouted. "It didn't occur to me that we were keeping _me_ a secret...now Loghain will know, and we'll never get into Denerim." He dropped his head into his hands, and Lyra bit her lip.

"He has to get out of Orzammar, first," Zevran said softly. "There is an _awful_ lot of lava around here."

Alistair raised his head and looked at Zevran. "Not the time to be discussing this, Zev. Not that we're even considering it," he said a little louder, for the benefit of the walls. Lyra stood.

"Come on, everyone. We have plans to make," she said shortly.

* * *

><p>They gathered in Alistair and Lyra's room back at the Chamber of the Assembly. Morrigan, Leliana, Wynne and Lyra sat on the bed, and Alistair, Sten and Zevran stood against the walls. Kestrel was gnawing on a bone in the corner, seemingly oblivious.<p>

"So, let's just get this first bit out of the way," Alistair said uncomfortably. "I am King Maric's bastard son. Eamon plans to put me forward as the next King at a Landsmeet in a little less than a month. I'm sorry we didn't tell you-"

"I knew," Zevran said.

"As did I," Sten said.

"You've already told _me_ of this, templar," Morrigan said in a bored voice.

"I...may have told Leliana," Lyra said apologetically.

"And I _may_ have told Sten. And Zevran," Leliana said, and Lyra threw her an annoyed glance. "What? They didn't tell anyone," she murmured, and Lyra poked her in the rib.

"I knew, as well...but you knew that, Alistair," Wynne said.

Alistair threw up his hands in annoyance. "Great. Fan-bloody-tastic. What else do all of you know? How many secrets does our happy little family share?"

No one said anything. Alistair crossed his arms and glared. "Don't be shy, everyone. Let's all really make sure everything's out on the table," he said rudely.

"Well, since you ask, I admit I've been having erotic dreams about you-" Zevran began, and Alistair put his hands over his face.

"Zevran, why do you hate me?" he mumbled into his palms.

"Hate you? Oh, Alistair...if you only knew the things I imagine as I lie in my bedroll, falling asleep-"

"Please stop talking," Alistair said brokenly. Leliana began to giggle, and then Lyra, and Zevran grinned wickedly at them. Morrigan covered her mouth with one hand, but her eyes were sparkling...and even Wynne was smiling.

"Okay, if we've all had our fun time with Alistair, let's move on, shall we?" Alistair said briskly, his cheeks red.

"Fun time with Alistair is _exactly_ what I was hoping for-"

"Zevran, say one more word and I will _end_ you!" Alistair shouted. Lyra stood up and took his hand, rubbing his arm gently, and kissed his cheek, using every bit of power she had to keep from laughing. Alistair seemed slightly mollified.

Zevran considered, and then held up his hands in surrender. Alistair looked relieved, and continued.

"So. As I was saying. I'm being put forward as king. This...Emissary Stuart intends to send word to Loghain."

"We should kill him," Zevran said simply. "I will do it."

"If he just disappears, people will talk, Zev," Lyra said. "If we kill him, it has to be after we leave Orzammar. I don't want any suspicion tied to us." She thought about the fact that she was calmly discussing ending a man's life. _Maker forgive me...I will face Your judgement one day,_ she thought, and then put the thought out of her mind.

"But in the meantime, he could send a message. Allow me to follow him, my flower."

"This isn't Antiva City, Zevran...I think he'll notice the only elf in Orzammar continually popping up behind him," Lyra said.

"Then I shall have to work through other channels. Is there an...unsavory part of the city?" Zevran asked.

"Uh...yes. Dust Town. It's at the end of the Commons." Lyra said, and Zevran took her hand and kissed it.

"I shall return," Zevran said, and strode out the door.

"I don't want to know," Alistair said, and Lyra privately agreed...she just hoped that whatever he was planning, it worked.

"Okay, that's done. So it appears that Lyra and I are fighting in some kind of ...tournament this afternoon. I suppose the rest of you are free to do whatever you please...Lyra, I'm going to speak to Janar about the sword, and maybe you can stay here and rest. Leliana, keep her company?" Alistair said, and went to his pack and pulled out a small pouch, then strode from the room. It was done so quickly that Lyra didn't have time to say she would go with him, or even ask any questions.

"Kestrel, go with Alistair," she said, and the Mabari padded out the door after the ex-templar.

Lyra looked at Leliana. "So. Keep me company, I guess?"

Leliana shrugged. "Very well? That was...awfully strong of Alistair. So...manly. What have you been doing to our templar, Lyra? It's most attractive!"

Lyra smiled. "Not much...he's done it all on his own."

Sten pushed himself away from the wall. "With your permission, Warden Lyra, I will retire to my room."

"Of course, Sten. See you later," she said, and the qunari left, perhaps sensing impending girl-talk.

"How was your time at the Shaperate, Wynne?" Lyra asked, turning to the Mage.

"Oh, very pleasant, thank you," Wynne said, and began to tell them some of the interesting things she had learned about lyrium manipulation.

"Czibor theorized it might even be possible to use lyrium to mark living beings, but he admitted that such a thing would be quite dangerous, and would have unknown side effects," Wynne said.

"Why would anyone want to brand people with lyrium?" Leliana said.

"The power that would be inherent in such a thing...well, the theories are impressive," Wynne said. "Apparently, Czibor heard about the idea from a Tevinter magister who came through awhile ago, named Danarius. It makes for interesting theory, but I doubt it would ever actually happen. Lyra, before I forget...I wanted to ask you something. At the Shaperate was a girl named Dagna, who is apparently very interested in the study of magic. Since she is dwarven, she cannot actually perform magic, but she wants to learn the theory behind it. I was wondering...do you think we might be able to take her with us, when we leave? She wants to study at the Circle Tower. I thought we might take her there."

Lyra considered. "I don't know, Wynne...traveling is becoming more dangerous. And don't the dwarves shun anyone who leaves Orzammar? She'd lose her family, her caste, all of her connections."

"I mentioned as much, but she seemed not to be bothered by those things. She truly has an incredible thirst for knowledge, and has already studied as much as she can here. She even offered to bring priceless knowledge to the Circle...it would be an incredible boon for us to have a dwarf who was willing to share knowledge of lyrium and the mining of it with us!"

Lyra sighed. "It's so dangerous right now... tell her we'll make sure she gets to the Circle, but that it will have to wait until the Blight is ended."

Wynne nodded. "Fair enough."

The women continued to talk, and even managed to draw Morrigan into their circle after awhile. The witch seemed to enjoy the notion of female companionship once she let her walls down a bit, and Lyra felt herself warming a little. Perhaps Alistair was right about her.

* * *

><p>"I'd like it to to be delicate looking, with petals. Can you manage petals?" Alistair said, glancing behind him to make sure Lyra wouldn't suddenly pop out of the crowd and see what he was up to.<p>

"Warden, I've never seen the thing you're talking about. Can you draw me a picture, maybe?" the artisan said, and Alistair borrowed some vellum and a graphite stick from another artisan sitting close by. He dashed off a quick picture, unable to really do it justice, but he thought he got the gist of it across. The artisan inspected it carefully, and nodded. They discussed a few more points, and then the dwarf asked about sizing.

Alistair pulled a loop of twine from his pocket, and handed it to the dwarf. "I managed to get this while she slept one night...she nearly woke up," he said with a grin. The dwarf nodded, and set the twine on the table.

"You have stones, you said?" he asked briskly, and Alistair pulled the pouch from his pocket.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Well, Oghren didn't quite make it into the story yet. This chapter ran away with me a little bit, once I finally got it going. Next chapter, though, I'm positive. _

_Mad props to WellspringCD, who is loaning me Vesta, her Aeducan female. Her story "Lost And Found: Adventures In The Deep Roads" is a great read, and gives some very interesting insight into the 'spawn infested Deep Roads. Highly recommended._

_Thanks to The Original Frizzi, Berserkians Fury, KnightOfHolyLight, and Angelakane for their reviews. Hugs and kisses. :-D_


	52. The Proving

CHAPTER 50

Alistair hurried back to the Assembly, happy with his plan, congratulating himself on making it all work. He was enormously excited to see the finished product. The artisan had told him it would only take a day or so to complete.

He made a quick stop by Janar's shop, and Janar showed him the plans for his new sword. Everything looked impressive, so Alistair gave his approval and Janar promised to have it done in two days' time. Alistair offered him several of the extra gems from his pouch in trade for the work on the sword, and Janar accepted with grace, looking impressed with the quality of some of the stones. Alistair was flying on a rose-colored thermal of happiness when Zevran appeared out of the crowd and began strolling beside him.

"Alistair," Zevran said by way of greeting.

"Hello, Zevran," Alistair said warily. "Successful trip to Dust Town?"

"Three members of the Carta will be trailing Stuart at all times, and will report back to us if he tries to send any messages out of Orzammar," Zevran said quietly as they walked. "They also have orders to intercept those messages and bring them to us."

"Thanks," Alistair said. "It's our lives on the line...I appreciate your forethought."

"Alistair, believe me...it is my pleasure," Zevran said, drawing out the word and making the Warden blush crimson.

"Why do you do that? You know I'm not...I mean, I'm with _Lyra_. Could you stop, please?" Alistair said entreatingly.

"Oh, but Alistair, you are the pinnacle of my desires. So strong, so handsome... it is no wonder our lovely commander sank her claws so deep. You are lucky to have _her_, as well. I really don't know who to be more jealous of... and with her political ties, she will undoubtedly bring you much success when you take the throne."

"I don't care about that," Alistair said.

"Oh, you have no care for her political connections? Surprising," Zevran said casually. "She is from the second-most influential family in Ferelden. If any man wishes to marry her, he cannot help but think of what that will mean."

"_I_ can help it," Alistair said. "To me, she's just Lyra."

"But Ferelden does not see her that way. Most wise of you, my friend...I see exactly what your plan is."

Alistair sighed. "There's no _plan_, Zevran. I just wish I could really marry her."

"You cannot marry her? You would be a fool not to," Zevran said.

"I must marry someone who can give me an heir," Alistair said.

"Must you? Can you not marry Lyra, and take a mistress to bear you a child?" Zevran asked suggestively.

"I..." Alistair hesitated, wondering why he hadn't thought of that. Then a new worry occurred to him. "But if I did that, then my child would be illegitimate, and wouldn't be accepted by the nobility as an heir. And believe me, I have no wish to bring bastard children into the world. I grew up as one, and it was _not_ the highlight of my life."

"Well, be sure you keep our lovely flower close...with Lyra's influence, almost any man could become the king..." Zevran said, and sauntered away.

Alistair thought about this, and his brow furrowed. He remembered Emissary Stuart's comments about how he was virtually unknown, and a risk to put on the throne. _Does she think I only want her for her position?_ he wondered. Suddenly the ring didn't seem like the greatest idea ever. He worried all the way back to the Assembly.

* * *

><p>Lyra handed Alistair a missive when he walked back through the door.<p>

"We're to be at the Proving Grounds in an hour, with two more people of our choosing. I think we should take Zevran, and Sten. Sten might just terrify our opponents to death," she joked, and Alistair chuckled as he read the information.

"Where's everyone else?" he asked.

"Oh, around, I guess. Doing their own thing," Lyra said, and stretched out invitingly on the bed. "It'll only take us about ten minutes to get the Proving Ground...what do you think we should do in the meantime?" She posed provocatively, and stretched, bringing her breasts into prominence.

Alistair chuckled, and pulled off his sword, and then the leather tabard he wore in lieu of full armor. He reached behind his neck to pull his shirt over his head.

"Why are you so damned tempting?" he said, and Lyra giggled. "You're going to be the death of me, woman."

"It's been over twelve hours," she said with a grin. "I can't help it. Have you _seen_ yourself?"

"No, actually. Tell me about me," Alistair said in a conceited voice, with a suggestive eyebrow waggle, and Lyra began cracking up. She stood, and ran her hands over the planes of his chest. His muscles were sculpted, and she felt the gentle hills and valleys of his abdomen with pleasure.

"You...have the most..._beautifu__l_ body I have ever seen," she said, and kissed his neck sensually, drawing her tongue over his skin. He reached down and pulled her shirt up over her head, then carded his hands into her hair and tilted her head back to kiss her soft neck. She leaned into him, closing her eyes with pleasure as his lips caressed her skin.

"What else?" he said softly, his warm breath sending shivers of delight through her as it washed over her neck. He continued to kiss her throat as she spoke, sliding one hand down her side to touch the small of her back and pull her close.

"You are the handsomest man in all of Ferelden," Lyra said. "Your eyes make me all..._indecent_. When you don't shave, and you rub your face on me...Alistair, you don't know what it does to me."

He picked up her hand and drew it along his cheek gently. "Too bad I shaved this morning," he said softly.

"No, I like this, too...it's just different," she said, and kissed his chin.

"Don't stop," he said. "What else do you love about me?" His eyes were sparkling with fun, and Lyra giggled as he lowered his face to kiss the area between her breasts. He reached behind her and untied her breastband, dropping it on the floor.

"Your hands are like magic...you always know exactly how to touch me, sometimes before I even know how I want you to touch me," she said, and he slid his hands up her torso to clasp her breasts firmly. She sighed with delight as he kissed her nipple, and then drew it into his mouth, stroking the sides of her breast lightly with his fingers. Her hands found the back of his head, and she gently drew her fingers through the short hair, raking her nails along his scalp. He groaned slightly as he nibbled at her breasts, and she gasped to feel his teeth scraping her skin slightly.

"You're feisty," she said, and he laughed.

"Is that supposed to be something you like about me, or just an observation?"

"Can't it be both?" she giggled, and he straightened up to pull her close and kiss her deeply. His tongue stroked hers, and she responded eagerly, meshing herself close to him. He slid his hands into her pants and eased them down, along with her smalls, grasping her rear end, enjoying the sensuous feel of her bare skin. She pushed them down the rest of the way, doing her best to keep their lips locked together, and broke the kiss to step out of her clothing. She yanked his pants down as well, pulling them down as she knelt before him, and he stepped out of them obligingly, toeing his feet out of his boots and yanking his socks off.

Lyra grasped his hard shaft and stroked it once or twice, and then grasped the hard, shiny head with her mouth. She worked her tongue along the outer rim, feeling the smooth texture and the heat. Alistair groaned, and his fingers slid into her hair and grasped desperately. She released him, and looked up with a wicked smile.

"I love..._this_..." she said. "I love to feel you moving inside of me, to know that we're connected...and I love feeling you harden. I love knowing it's happening because of _me_."

"Maker, I love when you do that," Alistair said breathlessly, and Lyra took him in her mouth again, using her hands and moving her head back and forth a few slow times, creating suction. He moaned, and then pulled her to her feet.

"I love kissing you..." she murmured, and he pulled her close and crushed his lips against hers, forcing his tongue into her mouth in a hard, rough kiss. She felt his teeth pressing close, feeling as though they might cut her lips in their desperation, and she didn't care. She kissed him just as eagerly, savoring this new, aggressive mood they were both in.

"You have the most beautiful lips..." Alistair murmured, and devoured her again. She raked her nails along his back, and he shuddered.

"This is supposed to be about you, remember?" she said when he pulled away.

"I've heard enough about me. Do you know what I love about you?" he said.

"What?" she said with a smile, and leaned back to crab-walk herself onto the bed. He clambered over her, and leaned down to kiss her belly button.

"Your skin..." he murmured through kisses, "is like flower petals." He nudged her legs apart, and leaned down to take a loving taste of the heat-drenched chasm that opened to him.

Lyra leaned her head back and sucked in a breath as he found the nodule just above her slit, and began teasing it with his tongue. She groaned throatily, and then gasped to feel his fingers join in, slipping inside of her and pressing around her edges, working in small, effective movements. She writhed, and then without warning she felt herself building to a frantic release. She cried out, her hands twisting the sheets as she held on desperately, her eyes clenched shut as waves of sensation started in the tops of her feet and trickled slowly upward. Then her orgasm peaked, and warm, sparkling feelings coursed outward, starting at Alistair's tongue and shooting through her veins, suffusing her body with pure, unadulterated pleasure.

"Maker, Alistair!" she cried, her voice high-pitched and breathless with ecstasy.

She shuddered against him, coming down, and his tongue stroked her lovingly, slowly, drawing out the pleasure and causing her to gasp and writhe a few more times. He looked up at her, his eyes shining, his lips curved in a sensuous smile.

"I love making you do that," he murmured, and she laughed, her breath coming in quick pants.

"I love it too...but only a little," she said with a grin. He climbed up on top of her, and she opened herself to him, sighing with pleasure as he sank into her. She took him in quickly, and her body cried out welcome as he filled her. Alistair moaned lightly, and buried his face in her neck as he began to move.

"You feel _different_ this time..." he whispered. "Remind me to finish you first more often..."

"If you insist," she whispered, and then he increased his tempo, causing friction and a raw, sliding sensation. Lyra matched his rhythm with her hips, and Alistair kissed her deeply as they moved together. Lyra could taste herself on his tongue, and the scent made her body ache with longing. Their pace became frenzied, and they moaned into each other, panting and groaning.

"Maker, Lyra...I'm..." he grated, and she clenched him tightly.

"Yes, Alistair...yes, please...now...oh, now!" she cried out, needing to feel him fill her.

She felt her body shuddering in response as he exploded within her, filling her with warmth. She moaned to feel his orgasm, and wished she could draw every bit of his essence deep within her, fantasizing for a moment that they would create a child out of their love. She held him close, keeping her eyes closed, focusing on the feeling of his small movements as he shuddered, draining himself into her. He was sweating freely, and he moaned with the pleasure of the moment. She squeezed, and he shuddered again, ejecting a bit more as he rested his forehead against her neck. She kissed his neck lovingly, feeling supremely close, supremely connected, supremely _in_ the moment, and she thought surely she must be the most blessed woman in all of Thedas.

After a moment, he lifted his head, and kissed her. She gently mopped his forehead with her hands, and he grinned.

"Sorry," he said, and she chuckled.

"I love you, Alistair," she said, smiling gently at him. His eyes softened with love and happiness.

"I love you too, Lyra," he said, and pressed his lips to hers.

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later, after having splashed water on their heated bodies and toweled off quickly, they were dressed and walking over an enormous bridge to the Proving Grounds with Sten and Zevran by their sides. Lyra was slightly nervous...but she thought a contest that only went to first blood couldn't possibly end badly for them. She had almost brought Wynne with them instead of Zevran, but reconsidered when she remembered it was only to first blood...no healing should be necessary in this competition.<p>

Wynne and Leliana had already gone to find seats among the crowd. Morrigan disdained to come, remaining in her room, keeping Kestrel with her. Lyra was feeling slightly more generous toward the witch after their earlier time together as girls. She imagined it would have been almost like spending time with her mother and sisters...if she'd had sisters.

As they crossed the bridge, Lyra heard Zevran's voice behind her.

"Have you noticed, Sten, that both of our Wardens are...glowing?" he said, his voice full of mirth. Lyra felt her cheeks begin burning, and she glanced at Alistair. He was studiously ignoring Zevran, although his hands twitched, perhaps wishing to draw his sword.

"I don't know what you mean," Sten said, his voice bored.

"Oh, come now. It is easy to see. Obviously, they were...polishing their weapons in preparation for the Proving."

"Ah. Yes, that would bring a glow to a qunari face, as well." Sten said.

"So, your sheath is empty, then, my qunari friend?"

"My sheath?" Sten said blankly. "My sword is held in place with metal straps. I have no sheath."

"You do not seem to be rising to the occasion," Zevran's silky voice said, and Lyra bit her lip, trying to hold in her laughter.

Silence, and then Sten's exasperated voice. "Do you spend your free time composing these?"

"Oh, no. They arise in the inspiration of the moment." Lyra couldn't help it. She snorted.

Sten sighed. "You should write them down, then. Quietly."

They passed the guards at the double doors, and entered the hall to the Proving Grounds. A dwarf with a gray beard introduced himself as the Proving Master, and directed them to enter the arena.

"Any questions before we begin, Wardens?"

"Anyone ever die in these things?" Alistair asked.

"Not usually," the Proving Master said.

"Thanks, I feel tons better now," Alistair said wryly.

They walked through the doors and into an enormous arena. Lyra gasped to see the incredible height of the ceilings...they rose to a height of at least a hundred feet, and there were thousands of dwarves gathered in the graduated levels of seating all around the oval arena. Their faces were tiny and far away, but they rose to their feet and cheered as the Wardens made their way to the center of the fighting ring.

"This is a Glory Proving, fought under the eyes of the Paragons of Orzammar, to determine the worthiness of the opponents! Fighting for the Grey Wardens are Lyra, Alistair, Sten, and Zevran! Fighting for Teyrn Loghain are Seweryn, Hanashen, Roshen and Piotin Aeducan! The winner of the Proving will receive Orzammar's aid, and the support of our Good King Endrin!" From a platform high in the air, the Proving Master shouted into a device that amplified his voice and sent it booming out over the arena. When he finished his words, the crowd went wild, cheering, screaming, and waving their fists in the air.

"Here we go," Alistair murmured.

"In the first round, Warden Alistair will face off against Seweryn, a warrior of rising acclaim!" Lyra, Sten and Zevren stepped back to a waiting area, and Alistair looked at Lyra apprehensively.

"Why are you looking at me like that? You'll beat him bloody!" Lyra cried, and raised a clenched fist. Alistair nodded, his face hardening, and he strode into the ring. The Proving Master listed off some rules, and then cried out, "First warrior to fall is vanquished! FIGHT!"

"I thought it was first blood?" Alistair cried as Seweryn rushed him, swinging an enormous axe. Alistair jumped out of the way and pulled his longsword, the lightning crackling impressively. Seweryn hesitated, and Alistair rushed forward with his shield. The dwarf was on the ground before he knew what hit him.

"The winner is Grey Warden Alistair!" the Proving Master bellowed, and the crowd went wild. Alistair raised a hand to wave to the crowd, and then ran back to Lyra excitedly.

"I won!" he whispered, as enthusiastic as a child. Lyra hugged him happily.

Following that, Lyra was paired against Hanashen, who was introduced as a Silent Sister who had cut out her own tongue in emulation of the Paragon Astyth the Grey. Lyra was horrified, but she tried not to let it show.

"Is the self mutilation supposed to scare me?" she taunted, and Hanashen looked at her darkly.

"FIGHT!" screamed the Proving Master, and Hanashen rushed Lyra, screaming a choked, ululating cry from the back of her throat. Lyra backed up frantically, shocked by the dwarf's charge, and pulled her weapons as she dove and rolled out of the way. She came up again and stabbed at Hanashen, then leaned back as the dwarf swung her greatsword. It overbalanced her, and Lyra drove her dagger into Hanashen's rib through a slit in her armor. Hanashen fell back, and held up her hands in defeat.

"The winner is Warden Lyra!" the Proving Master shouted, and Lyra ran to Alistair, throwing her arms around him and laughing.

Following that, they were paired up - Zevran and Sten against Roshen and Piotin. It was a furious, hard battle, and in the end only Sten remained standing. Zevran and the two dwarves were carried off, and hastily bandaged up in preparation for the final round.

"We've won three rounds...why are we continuing? Shouldn't it be best three out of four, or something?" Alistair whispered. Lyra shrugged.

"Maybe we need to be the best overall, no matter what combination we fight in," she whispered back.

"Hope Zev is okay," Alistair whispered.

The Proving Master announced the final round, and Zevran and the two dwarves limped back onto the battlefield, looking slightly dazed.

"Try and stay out of it, Zevran," Lyra whispered, and the elf nodded a little.

"FIGHT!" the Proving Master shouted, and Lyra charged, her weapons drawn and at the ready. Alistair bellowed a challenge, and then rushed forward with his shield, striking out once, twice, three times. Seweryn was not taken off his feet so easily, although Alistair did catch Roshen on the temple and sent him staggering. Sten swung his massive sword, and it clanged against Piotin's helmet, causing the dwarf's ears to ring. Sten swung his weapon again, and the helmet spun in a circle as Piotin dropped. Lyra was certain he was mildly concussed, and thought the dwarf should thank his stars that Sten was not really trying to kill him.

Lyra faced Hanashen, dodging and dancing, as the warrior woman tried to figure out exactly where she would be next. Finally Lyra stopped moving and held still, opening her arms and inviting Hanashen to take a stab at her. The dwarf charged like a maddened bull, and it was all too easy to step aside and let her barrel past. As she flew by, Lyra caught Hanashen's foot with her own, and the dwarf went sprawling in the dirt. Lyra pounced, pointing her sword at Hanashen's exposed neck. She drew back for the blow, and looked up at the Proving Master, who nodded, acknowledging her the winner of their encounter.

Alistair bashed once more with his shield, and Seweryn toppled like a tree. Zevran had never even needed to pull his weapons.

"People of Orzammar, can you deny that the Wardens have earned the championship?" the Proving Master called, and the audience screamed their approval.

"The Ancestors have shown their favor of the Wardens and their request for the support of King Endrin. Through this day, we affirm the friendship of our city and your order, and the support of King Endrin of the future monarch of Ferelden, Alistair!"

"I guess the cat's out of the bag," Lyra murmured, and nudged Alistair's shoulder. He lifted a hand to wave at the crowd, a blush coloring his cheeks.

"It is my honor to declare these Wardens...Champions of the Proving!" the Proving Master bellowed, and the crowd went absolutely berserk. The Proving Master continued to speak, but no one really listened, and after a few moments Lyra and her companions shook hands with their opponents, and exited the arena. They were swept up in a tide of well-wishers, and found themselves being carried to Tapster's Tavern for a celebration.

* * *

><p>"This ale...is really, really dark," Alistair slurred carefully, staring into the tankard.<p>

"It's black, actually, not just dark," Lyra giggled, and hiccupped. She was a little bit drunk, and getting drunker by the minute. It seemed that everyone in Orzammar was trying to buy them a drink, and she had caved after a few minutes of desperately trying to politely refuse offer after offer after offer.

"My flower, you are beautiful when you are inebriated," Zevran said dreamily, leaning his head on his hand.

"You are completely...right, Zevran," Alistair said, and slung his arm around the rogue. "Cheers to that," the Warden said, and tipped back his cup.

"Is this behavior normal for humans?" Sten said.

"Sometimes," Wynne said. She was nursing a cup of wine.

Leliana jumped up on the bar and began strumming her lute. "Orzammar, allow me to entertain you!" the bard called brightly, and they began to cheer and clap their hands as Leliana's fingers flew over the strings. She played a well-known drinking song that was currently popular in Denerim, and after a moment Zevran hopped up on the bar beside her and began to dance. Lyra laughed until her sides hurt, watching the shenanigans. She hiccupped again.

A dwarf with a very red, very bushy beard plonked himself down beside her. The music continued, and Lyra had to lean close to hear his words.

"Yer a good fighter, Warden," he said. His breath reeked of ale, and Lyra thought she saw crumbs in his beard. "If I'd had people like you with me when I went looking for Branka, I wouldn'ta come home without'er." He held out his hand, and Lyra shook it.

"Name's Oghren. Planning any trips into the Deep Roads?" he said loudly.

"No, sorry to say," Lyra shouted back. "But if we do, you'll be the first to know!" She patted him awkwardly on the back, and Alistair looked over in interest.

"Ah, the other Warden...the one who's gonna be king." Oghren burped, and sized Alistair up.

"You know what would do you some good?" the dwarf said in his thick, heavy voice.

"A pair of nose plugs?" Alistair said, and Lyra buried her head in his shoulder, shaking with laughter. Oghren didn't seem to notice.

"Go out, find a girl. Doesn't matter who, as long as there's no pants involved."

"What makes you think I haven't?" Alistair said, grinning at Lyra leeringly. She hit him. Oghren ignored their interaction and took another swig from his tankard.

"I can smell purity a mile away. It's a talent."

"That proves to be useful, I'm sure," Alistair said

"Not that often, it turns out. Be much better if I could smell cheese."

"That one, _I _can do," Alistair said proudly.

"No kiddin'?" Oghren said in amazement. "Hmm. We should be friends."

"Sounds excellent," Alistair said happily.

"But hey, you've got my deepest condolences. Y'know, about the purity thing," Oghren said. Alistair lifted his tankard.

"Here's to me finding a girl with no pants sometime very soon," Alistair said solemnly, and Oghren laughed heartily.

"I like you, Warden," he said.

* * *

><p>A sharp knock on the door woke Lyra and Alistair the next morning.<p>

"Oh, Maker..." Lyra groaned, and pressed her hands over her eyes. "Someone stop the world so I can throw up."

"There isn't even any sunlight, and I swear the sunlight is hurting my eyes," Alistair muttered.

"My mouth tastes like the inside of Oghren's beard," Lyra said, and stumbled toward the water pitcher, feeling as if her head would explode at any moment. It didn't, and she managed to pour some cold water into a cup and rinse out her mouth.

"Why did we do that? You've been drunk before...haven't you?" Lyra said weakly.

"Not like this..." Alistair groaned. "What on Maker's green earth do they _put_ in their ale?"

"Nasty, nasty, nasty shit," Lyra said, and Alistair chuckled. Lyra crawled back to the bed, and the knock on the door echoed again.

"Damn it!" Lyra groaned, and dragged herself to the door as Alistair put his pillow over his face. She cracked the door open and peeked out.

"Lyra?" Wynne's voice said worriedly.

"Hmm?" she said, trying to make the room stop whirling.

"Oh, for goodness' sake. How much did you _have_?" Wynne said, her voice annoyed.

"Only three...or six. I can't remember, mother," Lyra said pathetically, and Wynne sighed.

"I'll be back with some tonic. Get dressed. We have to get going."

"Where're we going again?" Lyra said, pressing her forehead against the cool stone doorjamb.

"Into the Deep Roads. Dagna's missing. I'll explain when you're sobered up," Wynne said, and hurried off.

* * *

><p><em>AN: We finally meet Oghren! Apparently he got our Wardens quite drunk, and now he'll probably think that he's the one who got Lyra and Alistair together, and finally brought an end to Alistair's status as "pure". Whether they'll correct him or not remains to be seen. :-D_

_Thanks to The Original Frizzi, KnightOfHolyLight, and Berserkians Fury for their reviews of the last chapter. As you can see, our Wardens may have gotten King Endrin to agree to support them, but their time in Orzammar ain't over yet. ;-)_


	53. The Deep Roads

CHAPTER 51

They made their way out to the small common area by the bathing room. Lyra sat at the table in her armor, her eyes shut, listening to her heartbeat pounding in her ears. She knew she must be fantastically hung over, since the food on the table was making her nauseous.

Alistair sat beside her, and whispered in a pained voice, "Is it just me, or is the silence loud? It's really loud."

"Really, really loud," Lyra whispered back. "And bright. Why did you let me _do_ that?"

"What? You mean when we started dicing, and Oghren won your smallclothes?"

"He didn't," Lyra said disbelievingly.

"He sure as hell did. How you managed to shimmy out of your breastband without removing your armor...well, it was impressive, let me tell you. Half of Orzammar is in love with you," he remarked.

"He couldn't have. I have my breastband on, you twit," Lyra said irritably. "Stop teasing me."

"Lyra, he _did_. I know it seems like the kind of thing I'd make up...but ask Zevran if you don't believe me. I won it back for you," Alistair said, pressing his hand against his eyes.

"Oh." She digested this for a moment, wondering how many people had seen her lose her breastband in a game of dice. She'd never even _played_ dice before. Then she remembered her original question.

"No, I mean, why did you let me drink so much?"

Alistair laughed, and then grimaced. "I didn't _let_ you do anything. You insisted. I tried to stop you."

"Not very hard," Lyra said.

"No, you're right, I didn't. It was amusing to watch you get drunk for the first time ever. And you're an adorable drunk," Alistair said with a slight smile. "You get all happy."

"Oh, hooray, I'm an adorable, happy drunk...ugh, I'm going to throw up," she said, and was doing her best to control her roiling stomach when Wynne bustled into the room holding two cups.

"Drink this," she said brusquely. Lyra and Alistair took the cups, and downed them. Almost immediately, Lyra's nausea went away, and some of the fog in her head cleared. She still had an epic headache, though.

"Thanks, Wynne," she said quietly, and the Mage sighed, and held her hands over Lyra's head.

"Curing hangovers...this isn't what I'm supposed to be doing with my magic," she muttered, and Lyra felt cool, soothing waves spread through her body. She sighed in relief as she began to feel normal again.

"Wynne, I could kiss you," she said.

"Dwarven ale is _not_ something to mess around with," Wynne said sternly, and turned to Alistair and began to minister to him. "Their constitutions are vastly different than ours. The next time you feel the need to get drunk in Orzammar, stick with the stuff they keep for humans."

"Yes ma'am," Lyra said meekly, and reached hungrily for a plate and began filling it with food. Alistair joined her in a moment, and Wynne sat and watched them devour their breakfasts.

"Wynne, you're my favorite-est Mage ever," Alistair said, his mouth full.

"Don't talk with your mouth full, young man," Wynne snapped, and he chewed obediently.

"Now, what were you saying outside my door? Something about the Deep Roads?" Lyra said, and dove into a second slice of fried nug.

"Dagna, the girl I met at the Shaperate, the one who wanted to go to the Circle Tower. I spoke with her yesterday, and told her that we couldn't take her with us right away, but that once the Blight was ended we would make sure she went to the Tower, just as you said. Well, her father Janar came knocking this morning. Dagna's gone, and she left this note," Wynne said, and she handed the note to Lyra. Lyra set her fork down, and smoothed it out to read.

_Dear Mother and Father,_

_I'm leaving Orzammar. I've found an old map in the Shaperate that shows a road that goes all the way to the Circle Tower. It's my dream to study magic, and I won't give it up! I know I'll lose my caste, and I don't care. I'd rather be casteless and live with the Mages than stay here and be trapped. __I'll send word to you when I arrive. I love you. ~Dagna_

Lyra handed the note back to Wynne. "She can't go into the Deep Roads by herself...the only people who do that are-"

"Grey Wardens," Wynne finished. "That's why Janar came here. He appealed to the Warrior Caste, and they told him they can't spare the manpower to go after one girl who went into the Deep Roads on her own. He asked to meet with you and Alistair to see if you would find her."

"Of course we will, Wynne," Lyra said. Ever since they'd arrived in Orzammar, Lyra had been feeling a slight sense of unease coming from deep underground. She could only assume it was the Darkspawn deep within the tunnels. She shuddered to think of a small dwarven woman alone in the darkness, with Darkspawn all around.

"It really isn't safe for anyone else to come with us," Alistair said. "The only reason Grey Wardens can venture into the Deep Roads alone is because we can't be killed by the Taint. With the amount of Darkspawn...it would be really, really easy for any of our companions to be affected."

"What about Kestrel? He's ripped the throats out of Darkspawn, he _must_ have been exposed before now," Lyra said, the thought occurring to her for the first time that her pet might have been in danger.

"Are Mabari immune?" Alistair wondered aloud, and they both turned their heads toward the dog. He was panting lightly, and he licked his chops and whined. Lyra tossed him a hunk of nug, and he devoured it in short order.

"Well...if you think he'll be okay, then let's take him. He can help us track Dagna," Alistair said, and Kestrel barked eagerly.

"I'll send a message to Janar," Wynne said. "And don't run off yet - I need to give you some supplies." The Mage hurried down the hall, and Lyra and Alistair finished their food and headed back to their room to pack.

Wynne arrived shortly afterward with a bundle of poultices and a few jars of salve, as well as packets of traveling food she had obtained for them. She handed each of them some of the supplies, and they added them to their bundles.

"Thanks, Wynne...we'll need extra, for Kestrel, and for Dagna when we find her. This will come in handy," Lyra said.

"She can't have gotten very far. I don't like this...I wish I could come with you," Wynne fretted, and Lyra hugged her.

"Don't worry, Wynne...we'll be okay," she said. Alistair came and put his arms around them both, and Wynne laughed a little.

"You're both so like children...but you're like _my_ children. Come back to me, or I'll..." Wynne trailed off, unable to think of a suitable punishment for dying.

"I'll hold you to that, Wynne," Alistair grinned.

"Do that," she said, and Alistair and Lyra shouldered their packs.

"Tell everyone what's happened," Lyra said. "I don't imagine we'll be gone more than three days. Maybe we can even find her today, and be back by dinner."

"I hope so, Lyra," Wynne said, and smiled faintly. "I feel so badly. If only..."

"I know. I wish I'd just said she could come with us. This is my fault," Lyra said, her eyes darkening with sadness.

"No, it's not. Dagna chose to do this. Do _not_ blame yourself, Lyra," Wynne said firmly. Lyra nodded, but her eyes remained haunted.

"C'mon," Alistair said. "The sooner we go, the sooner we'll be back."

* * *

><p>Janar came hurrying up as they strode out of the Assembly.<p>

"Wardens, thank the Stone. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this. I heard you might need something with Dagna's scent?" He held out a scarf, and Kestrel buried his nose in it, memorizing the dwarf girl's unique scent. He whuffed, and looked expectantly at Lyra.

"May we take that with us, Janar?" Lyra asked, and the merchant handed it over wordlessly.

"It's still early...she must have left in the middle of the night. She can't have gotten far. Can you find her?" Janar asked, his heart in his eyes.

"We'll do everything we can. We need to hurry, though," Alistair said, and Janar stepped back.

"Thank you, Wardens...Stone's Blessing," Janar said, and they hurried toward the elevator.

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, Lyra and Alistair passed the final set of guards, and entered the Deep Roads proper. Lyra was surprised...it didn't look that different from Orzammar.<p>

"I thought it would be more...cave-like?" Lyra said. Alistair chuckled.

"Most of the Deep Roads is actually old cities and passages created by the dwarves. Same high ceilings, same massive doorways. No doubt some of it is falling into disrepair, but the only reason the dwarves don't still live here is the Darkspawn. Their population is steadily shrinking...I meant it when I said I would send troops to help them. They need it," Alistair said. Lyra nodded...it was so sad to think that they had lost most of their empire, and that all that remained was one city. She tried to imagine the human population being reduced to only what would fit in Denerim.

The quiet sense of unease that Lyra had felt was growing, slowly.

"Feel that?" Alistair asked, and she nodded grimly.

"Nobody close, yet, but we're still pretty near to Orzammar. Routine patrols would wipe everything out this close in. Kestrel, any signs of Dagna?" Alistair asked.

Kestrel took another sniff of the scarf in Lyra's hand, and then put his nose to the ground. He began moving forward, and then barked and ran off down a tunnel.

"Come on!" Lyra said, and they ran after the Mabari.

* * *

><p>Lyra swung her sword and took the head clean off of a Genlock. From behind her, she felt rather than saw a Hurlock charge, and spun to sink her dagger into it's heart, giving the knife a menacing twist. The Hurlock screamed defiance and died on her blade.<p>

Alistair's sword sent charges of lightning zinging through the Hurlock he was fighting, and then he bashed out with his shield, sending it spinning to the ground. Panting, he sheathed his weapon and grinned over at Lyra.

"Having fun?"

"You sure know how to show a girl a good time," she said, and wished she had something to clean her blades with. The Darkspawn blood was everywhere...how did they always managed to get so covered with gore? She wiped a splash of blood from her face, and reached for her waterskin.

Kestrel bounded back and forth, whining.

"We must be close," Alistair said. He took a quick drink, and hooked his waterskin back onto his belt. "Are we close, Kestrel?"

The Mabari barked eagerly, and whined, straining to continue down the tunnel.

They'd been running-walking for about three hours, and the Darkspawn were getting thicker by the mile. Lyra was beginning to be really worried for Dagna...it didn't seem likely that the girl could still be alive, not without a phenomenal amount of luck.

Kestrel bounded forward, and the Wardens followed him down a tunnel and around a corner. The sick feeling Lyra had come to recognize as Darkspawn-sense began growing in her gut, and two more minutes of running brought them into a small, cave-like room. A group of genlocks were snarling and spitting, fighting with each other to try and get to a small crack in the wall.

Lyra called out tauntingly, and they spun and growled, red murder on their faces. Alistair yelled, "For the GREY WARDENS!", and ran forward with his shield held out. Lyra was two steps behind him, her weapons drawn, her sword aflame. Alistair swung his shield in a circle, and four Genlocks hit the ground, stunned. Lyra met the remaining two with both blades, and enchanted fire rippled over the torso of the Genlock on her left. He screamed horribly, and batted at his arms as the flames caught him like dry tinder. She yanked her blade out of his torso and plunged it and her dagger back into the Genlock on her right. Alistair was spinning between Genlocks, striking out with sword and shield, and the last one fell with a wet thud.

"Thanks for your help, mutt," Lyra called sarcastically, and rubbed her left wrist, grimacing a little. She had twisted it as she killed the last Darkspawn, and now it ached. Kestrel ignored her, and pawed at the crack in the wall that the Genlocks has been so interested in.

"Find something, Kestrel?" Alistair asked, and Lyra looked over with interest.

"Please, don't hurt me!" a small, feminine voice sobbed, and Lyra hurried over with Alistair toward the wall. Through the crack, she could make out the figure of a shivering girl with red pigtails.

"Dagna?" Lyra said, and the girl nodded. Relief spread through her bones. They had found her!

"We won't hurt you... We were looking for you. Thank the Maker..." Lyra said, and Alistair reached through the crack to offer her his hand.

Dagna was unhurt, but hungry and dirty. She admitted sheepishly that traveling the Deep Roads on her own was quite possibly one of the stupidest ideas she had ever had, and Lyra silently agreed with her.

"I promise you, Dagna...we will make sure you get to the Tower. But we can't do it if you're dead," Lyra said firmly, and Dagna nodded.

"I've waited nineteen years...I suppose I can wait a few more months," she said resignedly. "Thank you for coming to get me. Really, I should've been left to die."

"Orzammar has lost too many dwarves already, Dagna. You're too valuable to lose," Alistair said, and the young woman smiled shyly at him.

They began the walk back, which was mostly quiet and clear, since they had cleared out most of the Darkspawn as they traveled. They did run into a few more groups, as well as a small pack of Deepstalkers, but dispatched them with no trouble. Dagna stayed out of the way.

Lyra was happy. They had found Dagna, and would be back in Orzammar in time for supper. About half an hour remained of their journey to the gates, when Lyra's ears caught the sounds of...something. She paused, listening closely.

"Do you hear that?" she said softly, and Alistair and Dagna paused.

"No," Alistair said, and then Dagna shushed him.

"I hear it!" she said. "It sounds like..."

"A baby," Lyra said, and she and Dagna hurried toward the sound, Kestrel and a befuddled Alistair bringing up the rear. The mewling sounds grew louder, and Lyra prayed they would find the source before something hungry did.

They rounded a corner, and on a ledge about eight feet up Lyra spied a pile of blankets. She sprinted toward them, shucking her weapons as she did. She found handholds, and pulled herself carefully up to the top of the ledge.

A tiny infant waved it's arms and kicked, making small hungry sounds. Lyra's heart melted...it was so little! She gathered the baby carefully into her arms, and looked down over the ledge.

"Alistair, can you climb up, just a little? There's a small ledge, right there..." she gestured, and Alistair clambered up. She handed him the bundle, and then climbed carefully down, taking the baby again when she got to him, and managing to step carefully down the last few feet.

"Maker..." Alistair breathed, peering at the bundle in Lyra's arms. Kestrel sniffed at the blankets, and panted happily.

"It _is_ a baby," Dagna said, her eyes round.

"Why would a baby be out here, all alone?" Alistair said, his brows furrowed. "D'you think we should look for parents? Maybe something bad happened..." he trailed off, and then Dagna gave a cry of recognition.

"Oh, Stone take me, I know whose baby this is," she said, her voice tinged with sadness.

"Whose?" Lyra said. The tiny infant grabbed her finger, and tried to pull it into his mouth. She pulled it away in alarm, afraid there might be Darkspawn blood on her fingers. The baby sucked on his fist instead, and his eyes closed sleepily.

"Zerlinda. She's a friend of mine...or, she was, I guess. She fell in love with a man from Dust Town, and gave birth to this boy."

"And?" Lyra said.

"Well, her parents threw her out...she was trying to get by, but her man abandoned her. He was obviously just trying to get himself into a higher caste, but when the baby was born a boy he was casteless like his father."

"Wait. _That's_ how caste is determined?" Alistair asked. Dagna nodded.

"By the same sex parent. Noble-hunting is one of the only things casteless can do...with the population dwindling, dwarven families are happy for the births of any children, so it's allowed. But the Shaperate doesn't acknowledge children born to the casteless...they say they don't exist."

"_This_ obviously exists," Lyra said, gesturing to the baby she was cradling. "But that doesn't explain why the baby was out here."

"Zerlinda's parents made her an offer...abandon her son to the Roads, and they would allow her to come home, and forget the whole thing ever happened. I guess she made her choice," Dagna said.

"What?" Lyra cried. "I can't believe any woman would...would just..._leave_ her baby to die in the dark!" Her heart twisted painfully. The knowledge that this child had been left for dead hurt, terribly, and Lyra was reminded once again of her own childless state.

"She didn't want to...I imagine her father got to her at last," Dagna said. "She shouldn't have taken up with that rat bastard in the first place, that's how I feel about it."

"She fell in love," Lyra said. "That isn't a crime."

"It is if the one you love is casteless."

"Unless a baby is born, and it's the right gender," Alistair said dryly. "Makes all kinds of sense." He reached over and stroked the baby's cheek gently, his eyes softening.

"Exactly," Dagna said. She really didn't seem to understand why Lyra was so upset. "Aren't there rules about this sort of thing on the surface?"

"Yes, but when unexpected children are born, we try and make the best of things," Lyra said. "And sometimes, those children grow up to be more of a blessing than anyone ever thought they could have been." She looked at Alistair and smiled, thinking what a tragedy it would have been if the man she loved had never been born. Alistair grinned back at her.

"I won't stand for this," Lyra said. "We're going to speak with Endrin."

* * *

><p>"It's an outrage!" Lyra said heatedly. "Your population is <em>dwindling<em>. How can you allow children of any kind to be left to die? Why are the casteless not given opportunities? You have an entire section of your city that is festering, and those people could be given work! It's folly to not use the resources everyone has to offer!"

Lyra was standing before King Endrin, holding the bundle of blankets. Alistair stood behind her at a slight distance, and King Endrin sat on his throne on a low platform at the front of the room. Beside him, his children stood listening. Trian's face was cold, but Vesta and Behlen looked interested in what Lyra was saying. Endrin's face was a carefully controlled mask.

"Surfacer, you do not know our ways. I understand that humans think differently, but the casteless are not valid citizens. They are criminals, wastrels. They weaken the Stone." Endrin's voice was implacable.

"You're right. I don't know your ways. But how can it be right to kill a child because it was born of the wrong _gender_?" Lyra asked desperately. "Alistair is a bastard, a child no one expected or wanted. And now, he's going to be King of Ferelden, _and_ he's one of only two remaining Grey Wardens in the country. Without him, the entire nation might be lost! Tell me we aren't incredibly lucky his mother didn't murder him at birth!"

"Alistair was born to Maric. Were he a dwarf, his blood would be royal based on that fact. Be that as it may," Endrin said calmly. "Our traditions are what they are."

"Sod our traditions," Behlen said fiercely. "I agree with the Warden!"

"Yes, we know you do, Behlen," Trian said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Tell us, how many casteless women are you seeing at the moment?"

"That's none of your affair, Trian," Behlen said, his face darkening. "Father, let the casteless become Warriors. They could be sent into the Deep Roads, we could get the thaigs back-"

"Have you lost your mind?" Endrin cried, looking at his youngest son. "The Warrior Caste is a proud, respectable lineage-"

"Like Oghren?" Vesta murmured, and Endrin sighed.

"Oghren is...a special case."

"He's not allowed to carry weapons in the city because he nearly killed someone. He's constantly drunk, and he does nothing but moon over Branka and spend coin in Tapster's. Obviously a proud, respectable warrior," Vesta said sarcastically.

"Oghren is not the point here!" Endrin bellowed. "Warden, I hear your plea. Our ways are not your own. I will not prevent the girl from keeping her son - I will not even prevent her father from taking both of them back into his house, if that is his choice. But you _cannot_ hope to come in here raging at me and think you can change thousands of years of tradition in one moment of passion."

Endrin stood. "We are finished. Behlen, Vesta, Trian - join me in my office. Warden, take the child to Ordel of the Mining Caste, and for Stone's sake, allow _him_ to make the choice he will regarding the welfare of the child. You can't save everyone." Endrin turned and exited, followed by Behlen, Vesta and Trian.

Lyra gritted her teeth and bowed, then spun on her heel and left the room. Alistair followed her quietly.

"What did he say?" Dagna said, trotting along after them. Kestrel nudged Alistair's hand, and the Warden patted him absently.

"We're taking him to his home," Lyra said shortly. "Where do Zerlinda and Ordel live?"

Dagna scurried ahead of them, showing the way. They left the Diamond Quarter and took the elevator to the Commons, and then Dagna pointed them toward a modest looking door, not far from her own home. She waved, and disappeared into her house. Traffic was light...it was the end of the day, and merchants were closing down stalls and hurrying to their homes.

Lyra took a deep breath, and knocked firmly on the door Dagna had indicated. After a moment, it opened, and a frightened looking dwarf woman with gray hair looked at Lyra apprehensively.

"Is this the home of Zerlinda and Ordel?" Lyra asked. From behind the woman, she heard voices.

"Who is it, Marta?" a male voice said. The woman wordlessly pulled the door open wide, and a stout dwarf with a closely trimmed brown beard appeared in the doorway. His eyes widened, and then narrowed when he saw Lyra's bundle.

"Ordel, I've brought your grandson home to you," Lyra said. "Is Zerlinda here?"

"Oh, my baby!" a young woman's voice cried, and she pushed past her parents to take the bundle carefully from Lyra's arms. She began cooing at the tiny boy, who laughed when he saw her face. Tears ran down Zerlinda's cheeks, and she hugged him to her, sobbing happily.

"Zerlinda, give him to me," her father said. "I'll do it myself this time-"

"No!" Zerlinda shouted. "I won't let you! You pushed me for weeks, and I finally gave in...but now my son has come back to me, and I _will not_ let him go again!" She looked at Lyra entreatingly.

"Warden, please...will you take me to the surface with you, when you leave? I can find a new life there, where my son and I can live together."

"What!" her father said, shocked. "You would leave Orzammar...give up your caste, your Stone sense, your family, for this misbegotten cur?"

"He's not a cur! He cries like any other infant, and smiles when he's warm and full. And yes, I would leave Orzammar," Zerlinda sobbed. "I don't care! I can't kill my baby," she said, and hugged him close.

Lyra recognized her now...she had been the one in Dust Town the day before, crying by the entrance, clutching her babe close. _She must have been making the awful decision to go home._..

"If you truly wish it, Zerlinda, then yes, I'll take you with me when I leave," Lyra said. "I know a dwarf merchant on the surface who might take you in as a cook, or servant of some kind."

"Yes, anything," Zerlinda nodded. Her father glared at Lyra, and then turned to his daughter.

"Zerlinda, please...let's not be hasty. If you really would keep him, and even leave Orzammar to do it..." he sighed. "Come back inside. We'll work it out."

Zerlinda looked at him distrustingly, and Lyra reached for her hand.

"You don't need _me_, if you really want to leave Orzammar," she said quietly. "You can do it at any time. Remember that. On the surface, we're all equal." Lyra squeezed her fingers, and Zerlinda nodded, encouraged.

"Thank you for saving my baby," she whispered, and the family stepped back through the door, which clicked closed quietly.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Vesta Aeducan is the invention of the very talented writer, WellspringCD. Check her stuff out!_

_Thanks to The Original Frizzi, Berserkians Fury, Pharin of the Dunedain, sassyXviolets, FenZev, and KnightOfHolyLight for reviews. Hope you're enjoying this alternate Orzammar...it's just about finished. Then the "real" fun can begin..._


	54. The Great, Wide World

CHAPTER 52

"I hope Zerlinda doesn't let her father take the baby..." Lyra said quietly. She and Alistair were walking slowly back toward the Diamond Quarter, hand in hand. Kestrel padded along beside them, sniffing the ground and panting.

"I'm just glad we found him in time. He can't have been out there for more than half an hour...the moment he cried, he would have been found by something hungry with pointy teeth. Do you think many babies get abandoned to the Deep Roads?" Alistair asked.

"It must be fairly common, since it didn't bother Dagna," Lyra said quietly. "It's just so _awful_..."

"I know," Alistair said, and pulled her close into a tight hug.

"I could never let a child of ours go," Lyra whispered.

"You'll never have to," Alistair whispered back. "If we're lucky enough to have a child someday, one of our own or one we merely claim as our own, it'll be the most spoiled, coddled, cared-for child in all of Ferelden."

"Damned right," Lyra said, and he chuckled, and kissed her forehead.

When they got back to the Assembly, Zevran pulled them aside. He quietly reported that Emissary Stuart had left the city late in the morning. About five miles out of Orzammar he'd met with a most unfortunate accident on the road, and was no longer a threat to anyone.

"And he sent no messages to Loghain?" Lyra asked, her heart twinging slightly. _I may be damned for this,_ she thought to herself. _But it's for Ferelden. If I pay for that decision, then I pay for it._

"None, my flower. You have nothing to fear," Zevran said easily. Lyra nodded.

"Thanks, Zev," she murmured, and the assassin kissed her hand, and left the room. Alistair sighed.

"I hate that we had to do that," Alistair said. "The man was a supreme ass, but I don't know that he deserved to die..."

"He's the one who made threats," Lyra said evenly. "I would have killed him myself if necessary."

Alistair looked at her, surprised. "Really? I...wow. That's, um...wow, Lyra. Didn't know you had _that_in you."

She looked at him, her eyes deadly serious. "This isn't a game, Alistair. Ferelden _needs_ you, needs _us_, and I intend to make sure you sit the throne. If I have to use every political connection my family posesses, I _will_ make certain that we don't fall to another tyrant like Loghain. It's my duty as a Cousland. I hope you can understand that." She kissed him gently, and moved off to see about dinner.

Alistair thought uncomfortably about what Zevran had said about Lyra's political power, and how she could put any man she chose on the throne. He wasn't sure how he felt about this idea...that the woman he loved could be a ruthless politician, capable of committing murder to further her cause.

He rubbed the back of his neck, his mind troubled, and followed her toward the common room.

* * *

><p>The next morning after breakfast, they began preparations to leave Orzammar.<p>

"I'll just head over to Janar's shop, see about picking up the sword. Um, you stay here and pack, maybe?" Alistair asked, edging toward the door.

"I'll come with you," Lyra said. "It won't take a moment to finish putting our things in the bags, and I want to see the sword!"

"Um...alright," Alistair said, wondering how he was going to manage his stop at the jeweler. "I know! Let's get Leliana and ask her to come along. She likes shopping, right?"

"She does, but I know she spent most of the day yesterday wandering the market. She might not need anything else."

"Well, we wouldn't want to be rude. Let's ask her," Alistair said, desperate for Lyra to be distracted. Lyra shrugged, and they collected Leliana, who said she would be delighted to go to the marketplace again.

"Lyra, there was a stall that had the cutest shoes..." Leliana gushed, and Alistair grinned to himself. He should have plenty of time.

* * *

><p>"Here she is..." Janar said, and unwrapped a piece of cloth to reveal a graceful longsword with a scalloped blade. The hilt was shining silver, the grip wrapped with leather and criss-crossed wire to ensure a solid hold. The blade ended in a wicked looking point, and gently gleaming blue lines swirled along the length of the blade. Lyra could have sworn they <em>glowed<em> slightly.

"I've seen decorated swords before, but this...this is exquisite, Janar," Lyra said appreciatively. "What materials did you use?" Alistair took the sword reverently and held it in his hand, testing the weight. It was perfectly balanced, and felt as if it had been made for his hand. _I guess it was..._ Alistair thought to himself. He took a careful practice swing, enjoying the feel of the blade cutting through the air.

"The hilt and blade are one piece, to create continuous strength, and the hilt is dipped in silverite and wrapped with suede and wire. The blade is the ore you brought me, and I've folded lyrium into it...that's what creates those blue lines. Because of all the lyrium, this sword has a great capacity for magic... If you wish, I can have one of my apprentices enchant it for you."

"I know an excellent enchanter on the surface who I plan to ask," Alistair said, his eyes on the graceful lines of the longsword. Janar nodded.

"It's amazing. Janar, you did a fantastic job!" Lyra said. An apprentice brought out a scabbard made to fit the sword, and helped Alistair strap it onto his back. The Warden slid the blade carefully into the scabbard, and grinned delightedly at Lyra. She took his old sword and held it for him as they made adjustments, making sure the scabbard was well-fitted.

"I wish I could take full credit. My apprentices did most of the work...what with Dagna missing, I was a wreck. I supervised the majority of it," Janar said. "I cannot thank you enough, Wardens, for bringing my girl back to me. When she came home and told me she intended to go to the Circle...I'm afraid I lost my temper and forbade her to go. If I hadn't...perhaps she wouldn't have run," he said softly. "I will let her go with you, when you return. I would rather know she is alive and safe, than risk her running again." Lyra smiled at the man, approving his decision.

"How much do we owe you?" she asked, reaching into her belt pouch.

"Not a thing. What with the gems Alistair gave me, you are more than paid up," Janar said, and shook Alistair's hand firmly.

"Uh... Thank you, Janar. Alistair, do you want to keep your old sword?" Lyra asked, holding out the blade in it's worn scabbard.

"Would you take it, Janar? In trade?" Alistair asked.

"Certainly..." Janar offered a price, and they accepted. Alistair's old sword and worn belt was taken away.

"Thank you again, Janar. Stone's blessing," Lyra said, and she and Alistair left the shop. She turned to look at the other Warden, a questioning look on her face.

"What was that Janar said about gems?" Lyra said to Alistair with a raised eyebrow.

"Ahhhah...yes. I took some gems from the Dragon's hoard...you know, to... trade with," he said uncomfortably, and Lyra nodded slowly.

"I see. Good thinking," she said with a small smile. Obviously, he was hiding something, but she wasn't overly concerned. Alistair was so very transparent, she doubted he could keep a secret from her if his life depended on it...she would find out what it was sooner or later, she was certain.

"So, did Leliana show you those...shoes...or whatever it was she was looking at?" Alistair asked carefully. He glanced over his shoulder at something.

"Oh, no, not yet. Maybe I'll just go with her...see what the hype is all about..." Lyra said, sensing he wanted to get rid of her. Alistair brightened.

"That sounds good. I'll meet you back at the Assembly?" he asked, and she kissed him.

"Sure. See you there," she said, and walked over toward the shoe shop, where Leliana was browsing happily.

"Look at these, Lyra...they're adorable, aren't they?" Leliana said breathlessly. She was mooning over a pair of fancy, high-heeled boots with blue silk trimming and small, golden charms dangling from the ankle. "Your Ferelden boots are sturdy, but so..._ugly_."

"Those shoes wouldn't last three minutes walking through the mud," Lyra remarked. "There's a _reason _I wear these boots."

"Maybe so, but sometimes a woman likes to have pretty feet. I really miss the shoes in Orlais..." Leliana sighed, and Lyra glanced behind her as Leliana kept talking, covertly seeing if she could locate Alistair. She thought she caught a glimpse of his back, disappearing into a...jewelry shop? Leliana asked her a question, and Lyra snapped her head back around.

"I'm sorry, what did you say Leli?" Leliana began to enumerate on the virtues of silk versus lace, and Lyra tuned out.

* * *

><p>"It's incredible," Alistair said happily. "You've really never seen a rose before?" He fingered the tiny silver ring, admiring the sparkle of the diamond set in the center of the petals. It was designed to look like an entire rose, with the stem curling around to form the ring, and the rose open to reveal the gem in the center. Two delicate silver leaves curled around the shining blossom. After finding Lyra looking at the dried and crumbling rose he'd given her as a birthday gift, he'd gotten the idea to have a ring crafted to look like the flower she loved so much. It would last much, much longer than the token he had given her months ago.<p>

"I was intrigued by your drawing, and so I asked the Shapers if they had any records of your flower," the artisan said. "I found some literature, and some more pictures. It helped. But I got it right?"

"Very, very right. It's perfect...Thank you," Alistair said fervently, and slipped the ring back into the tiny bag it had been in. He pocketed it, and handed the artisan their agreed-upon price. He was putting his coin pouch away when his eye was caught by a small mirror on a table. It was made of gold, and encrusted with pearls and opals. He remembered a night by the fire, when Morrigan had told a story about her childhood.

"How much for this?" he said, picking up the mirror and turning it over in his fingers.

"For you, sir? Two sovereigns." Alistair handed over the money, and the merchant wrapped the mirror in protective cloth. He thanked the man, and hurried out of the shop.

As he jogged back to the Assembly, he suddenly wondered...how was he going to manage to give Morrigan the mirror without offending Lyra? It was a fanciful whim that had prompted the purchase... a desire to give Morrigan something beautiful, something that had been destroyed by her evil mother in her un-childlike childhood. He worried the whole way back. What had possessed him to buy the mirror? Morrigan was a sore subject...if Lyra found out...

The memory of Morrigan's lips on his cheek intruded, and he flushed. _This was a mistake..._ he thought, chewing on his lip.

He knocked on Morrigan's door, looking behind him to see if anyone was around.

"Morrigan?" he called softly. No answer, and so he pushed the door open gently. The witch was not in her room, but her pack was on the bed.

Sudden inspiration struck, and he took the mirror from his pocket and slipped it into her bag, still wrapped in the cloth. He snuck out, and closed the door, his hands perspiring slightly.

He shuffled quickly to his room, and hid the ring in it's pouch deep in his bag, hoping Lyra wouldn't have reason to go digging through his things. He wasn't sure what he planned to do...after Lyra's speech the night before about politics, he was even less certain that she wouldn't take it the wrong way. As long as there were no formal commitments, she couldn't accuse him of using her... Perhaps he would wait until after everything was over. Plenty of time for commitment once he was on the throne, and the Archdemon was dead.

Alistair sighed, and knotted his packs shut.

* * *

><p>"Wardens. Orzammar will send it's finest warriors to combat the Archdemon. Expect us in Redcliffe in one month's time," Endrin said, and Alistair bowed his head in acknowledgement. A crowd had gathered at the edge of the Commons around King Endrin and his family, seeing the Wardens and their companions off. Dagna waved excitedly, and Lyra saw Zerlinda holding her son at the back of the crowd. Zerlinda smiled warmly at her.<p>

"Thank you, King Endrin...your support means the success of our campaign," Alistair said formally.

Endrin gestured, and a proud looking warrior began to step forward. "As a token of good faith, I will send one of my very best warriors with you now, to travel with you. Alistair, allow me to present-"

"Hey, Warden! You weren't really gonna leave Orzammar without sayin' g'bye, were ya?" a rough voice said, and Oghren pushed through the crowd. "You owe me, ya know. I let ya have her underclothes back as a favor, but I expect a rematch." There was a rumble of laughter, and Lyra's cheeks went red...obviously, her stunt had been observed by many, and probably talked about by more.

"Hey, Oghren!" Alistair said happily. "King Endrin, did you mean to send Oghren with us?"

"I..." Endrin said, and Oghren belched... a loud, colorful sound.

"You needa dwarf? Sure. Love ta go. See the surface, try not to fall up...not gettin' much done here in Orzammar, anyway. They got ale on the surface, right? Once this Blight's over with, you can help me find Branka. Fair trade. I'll help ya kill the Archdemon, and you help me find my sodding wife."

"Fantastic! He can come, right Lyra?" Alistair turned eager eyes on his fellow Warden.

"I..." Lyra looked at Endrin. It was clear that the king had intended to send someone other than Oghren with them. She looked at the dwarven Warrior...and then at Oghren. Alistair looked at her with hopeful, childlike eyes. He nodded slightly, encouraging her.

"Well...yes?" Lyra said hesitantly. Oghren laughed heartily, and Kestrel looked at Lyra and whined.

"Well slap my dwarven cheeks, ol' Oghren's gonna see the surface! Good thing I came prepared. Endrin, you ol' son of a bitch. Tella dwarf next time yer gonna send'im off somewhere. Good thing I got'ere in time."

"Yes...good thing," Endrin said weakly. "Warden, are you certain-"

"Absolutely. Oghren's the best!" Alistair said with a huge grin. "Thank you, King Endrin. We'll take good care of him."

Vesta covered her mouth, and Lyra could have sworn she was laughing. Behlen grinned, and nudged Trian, who rolled his eyes.

"At least he'll be out of the city," Lyra thought she heard Trian mutter.

"Stone's Blessing, Wardens," Endrin said, and Lyra led her companions went through the huge doors leading to the Hall of Heroes. The doors boomed shut behind them, and they began the short walk over the bridge to the gates leading out to the mountainside.

"This is great. I can't believe he's actually coming with us!" Alistair said, his voice reminding Lyra of a kid at Satinalia.

"Believe it, Warden. Ol' Oghren's here to stay." Oghren pulled a flask from his belt, and took a swig. Lyra smiled a little to hear Alistair so excited.

"So, uh, what did you do with her legs?" Oghren said, his voice scandalous and filled with lecherous interest.

"Um...what?" Alistair said.

"Her legs."

"Whose legs?" Alistair said uncomfortably. Lyra heard Zevran snicker.

"That's the problem with dwarven legs," Oghren said, and grunted. "They're useless as an accessory. _Her _legs, though...go on for a mile. Don't they get tangled up?"

Lyra's mouth dropped open. Leliana giggled, and she shot the bard an offended look. "This isn't happening," Lyra muttered.

"What are you..." Alistair said, and then he lowered his voice, embarrassed. "I didn't do anything with them. I don't know what-"

"Ah, say no more. Just got 'em outta the way and went about yer business. Good on ya, son." Oghren giggled, his gravelly voice accentuating the sound.

"Um...thanks," Alistair said, and then he jogged up to walk beside Lyra. "Is it too late to take him back?" he whispered, his face flaming red.

The gate winched itself open, and they stepped out into the frosty mountain air.

"Yeaechhh!" Oghren cried, and threw his arm over his eyes. "Sodding bright! What in stone's titties _is_ that?"

"It's the sun, Oghren," Wynne said, and Lyra grinned.

"Yup, too late," she said to Alistair.

* * *

><p><em>AN: ... :-D_

_Reviewers, love you. Welcome, readers who've caught up! If you've favorited this story, or signed up for alerts...you're awesome. I hope you're enjoying it! Let me know what you think! I have *most* of the rest of the story worked out in my head. Hopefully I can make the characters stick to the script. _


	55. Oghren's Adjustments

CHAPTER 53

"How do you folk _see_ out here?" Oghren grumbled. He was stumbling blindly through the snow, and he pulled his flask from his pocket and took a drink.

"Don't you have a cloak, Oghren?" Alistair asked.

"What for?" Oghren said.

"To keep you warm? It's cold," Alistair said. Everyone else was pulling cloaks around themselves, including Morrigan, who had finally obtained one after the difficulties in Haven.

"Never needed one. Orzammar's full of lava," Oghren grumbled.

"Oghren...you don't have a weapon, do you?" Lyra said, inspecting him more closely.

"Nope. Not allowed to carry one." Oghren sniffed and scratched.

Lyra sighed. "You can't travel with us and not have a weapon. Let's go see Bodahn...Alistair, you can have Sandal look at your new sword while we're getting Oghren set up."

It took a few hours to get going again. They found Oghren a sturdy battle axe, a cloak that only needed to be cut down a little, and set him up with a bed roll and shoulder pack. Oghren spent the time questioning Wynne about things like what snow was, and how high the "sky ceiling" rose, and they had an enlightening discussion on weather and seasons.

"You mean ta tell me...this stuff's called snow, and it's cold, and it falls during something called 'winter'. But...this is _'summer_'...and as we go south, the snow'll disappear?"

"Yes, Oghren," Wynne said. Oghren snorted.

"Daft. Asschabs, this whole surface thing is daft." He looked down at his feet, and then up at the sky. "What happens if I jump?"

"What do you mean?" Wynne said.

"If I jump. Do I go flyin' off? Is it quick, or could someone grab me? I almost wanna try it."

"Please, try it," Zevran said, his eyes glittering. "Alistair will catch you."

"What?" Alistair said, walking back over. "I didn't hear you. What'll I do? Don't commit me without me knowing what it is I'm 'sposed to do."

"Shhh," Zevran said. Oghren wore a look of extreme concentration. He squinched his eyes shut, and then gave a mighty yell and jumped. Kestrel cocked his head at the dwarf and whined.

His feet might have gone three inches off the ground before he came slamming back to earth. His eyes popped open, and Zevran began to snicker.

"I'm still on the ground," Oghren said, puzzled. "That's disappointin'. Always kinda wanted to fly." He took another sip from his flask. "Must be too heavy. Built right solid, I am. Even up here, still got my stone connection. Damn fruity elves," he muttered. Zevran grinned happily.

"What was that?" Lyra asked as she walked up, puzzled. She bore the results of her last purchases...more jerky, and dried fruit and nuts. She parceled them out to everyone, and they tucked them into their packs.

"Oghren nearly fell into the sky, but Alistair saved him," Zevran said with a twinkle in his eye.

"Oh. Now I understand perfectly," Lyra said sarcastically. She looked at Alistair, who shrugged.

"Don't ask me. I just got here," he said.

* * *

><p>Bodahn told them he intended to remain in Orzammar for the duration of the Blight.<p>

"They're not letting people in, Bodahn," Lyra said worriedly. 'King Endrin's closed the city against more refugees..."

"Even so, Sandal and I'll stay here. The Blight can't last forever...not with you and Alistair bringing it to an end!" Bodahn said cheerfully.

Lyra remembered Zerlinda, and told Bodahn about the dwarf girl and her baby, and the possibility that she might come to the surface. Bodahn promised to find a place for her, if she should need one.

"Don't worry about us, my dear...this is still one of the safest spots in all of Ferelden. Take care of yourself...Maker's blessing, Lyra," he said, and squeezed her hand. Lyra smiled at the friendly merchant, almost sorry to leave him.

"Stone's blessing, Bodahn," she said, and gave Sandal a hug.

"Enchantment!" Sandal said happily, and she chuckled.

* * *

><p>They made only a few miles before it got dark. Alistair and Lyra carried their rolls of dragon skin wedged behind their packs, and with the addition of Oghren, they had a bit more cooking equipment than they'd had previously, but even with eight people carrying supplies it was a meager camp they constructed.<p>

"I miss Bodahn's wagon already...and I really miss our tents," Alistair grumbled as he and Lyra settled down into their shared bedroll. Lyra had been hesitant about openly sharing their sleeping rolls without even the protection of cloth walls, but Alistair had pointed out that if all they were doing was sleeping, there was no reason not to share body warmth.

"Everyone knows, anyway..." he whispered. "Not that it won't drive me slightly crazy to have you so close and not be able to do anything about it..." he murmured into her ear, and kissed her neck gently.

"Shhh..." she whispered. "Behave yourself."

The best part of their large group was the rotation of the watch...it was possible to get two full nights of sleep before your turn came up for guard duty, and everyone was well rested. The next morning, they came down out of the steepest parts of the mountain, and the ground began to level off, melting the snow as the sun gained strength.

Oghren was impaired by his shorter legs, although he could run all day, or so he claimed. Wynne couldn't run, and so they were necessarily slowed to her pace. They stayed on the paths as much as possible, to speed their travels, but it was slow going.

In the afternoon of the first full day out of Orzammar, they left the mountain completely, and made their way along the coast of Lake Calenhad. They fished for crabs with sticks they found and lengths of slender rope, using jerky for bait. Oghren fell into the lake, much to Zevran's amusement. Sten turned out to be the best crabber of all of them. He had a natural patience that served him well. They had a grand feast that night, steaming the crabs in their shells over the fire, although Leliana wished for butter and lemon, reminiscing about dinner parties in Orlais.

After dinner, Lyra and Leliana decided to wash their hair using buckets of water dipped up from the lake, and Alistair was watching from a rocky outcropping near the shore. The girls splashed and laughed, and Morrigan crept up beside him, unseen by the others.

"You put something in my pack, templar," she said softly, her voice sultry in the darkness.

"Oh. Um, what?" Alistair said, glad she couldn't see his face.

Morrigan laughed. "Do not think to fool me. I can smell your scent on the cloth."

He turned to look at her. "Now that's just creepy. How can you _smell_ me?"

"I have talents beyond those of a normal woman, Alistair..." Morrigan said. She leaned closer to his ear.

"Why?" she whispered.

"Why what?" he said uncomfortably, his voice betraying his confusion.

"Why give me such a gift?" Morrigan's voice was curious, but not unpleasant. She leaned back and inspected him.

"Oh. Uh...well...I saw it, and it reminded me of the story you told. About your childhood. I...just thought you might like it." He turned to look at her. "Do you?"

"Your feelings are for your fellow Warden," Morrigan said, her voice stern.

"Of course," Alistair said hastily. "Not even a question. But... can't a friend give another friend a gift? Or...was it wrong of me to do that?"

Morrigan considered this for a moment, then laughed, a forced, harsh sound.

"Look at us," Morrigan said disgustedly. "Neither one of us know the protocols for relationships...how very sad."

They sat in silence for a momet, and then Morrigan leaned close.

" 'Tis most beautiful. I thank you for such a fine gift..." she whispered, and kissed his cheek. Just a mere brushing of her lips against his skin, the briefest of touches, and then she turned into a wolf and ran away.

Alistair's eyes bugged out of his head. _Holy Maker! Did I just see...Morrigan...turn into a wolf? ...I did. Is that how she can smell...? I'm going quietly mad._

"Alistair, bring me my towel, would you?" Lyra's voice called, and he stood up, grabbed the piece of leather and walked toward her, his mind racing over what he'd just seen. The remembered feel of Morrigan's lips burned his skin, and he scrubbed his cheek with his hand angrily, banishing the sensory memory. _Damn_ the witch!

He handed the towel to Lyra, who wrapped it around her head as it hung upside down over the lake. She stood up, rubbing her hair vigorously, and then pulled the towel down around her shoulders. Her hair was everywhere, wet and scraggly, and Alistair's heart melted to see her looking so adorably bedraggled. On a whim, he pulled her into an embrace and kissed her deeply, dipping her down and supporting her around her waist, one hand on her upper back. Leliana began to laugh, and Lyra wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss, smiling against his lips, thrilling at this unexpected display.

"Stay with me forever..." Alistair breathed, his heart beating with guilt.

"Forever and always," she whispered back, and their lips joined again, and his hands tightened on her skin.

Alistair made a pact within himself. No more gifts, no more friendship. Too much was at stake.

No more Morrigan.

* * *

><p>They traveled for two more days, and Morrigan kept her distance, much to Alistair's relief. Alistair estimated that they would be arriving in Redcliffe that afternoon, and he was looking forward to a room in Arl Eamon's castle...alone at last, with Lyra.<p>

"Ugh. Got something in my...Sod it." Oghren began picking at his armor in a very particular way.

"What are you..." Wynne said, and then she shut her eyes and turned her head away slightly. "Never mind, I don't want to know.

"That's right," Oghren said, a sneer in his voice. "Keep yer nose up. You know, just 'cuz we don't all live in some tower in the clouds doesn't mean we're worthless." He finished his business, and spat mightily into the trees.

"I didn't mean..." Wynne began, but Oghren cut her off, jabbing a finger at her.

"And furthermore, I don't think I appreciate the way ya looked at me the other night." He wiped his nose, and took a sip from his ever-present flask.

"The way I...what?" Wynne said. She looked truly, truly confused, and maybe a little bit scared.

"Oh, don't deny it. You remember. Those longin' eyes...hungry for a bit of a...tussle..." Oghren said suggestively, his graveled voice dropping down into what he must have imagined was a sexy tone. Leliana looked at Lyra, her eyes dancing. When Oghren wasn't speaking to _you_...it was terribly funny.

"I _never_ looked at you, dwarf. Definitely not in that way," Wynne said, her voice shocked.

Oghren creased his brows, and then nodded. "Oh...I think yer right. Huh, must've been the dog." Kestrel growled, and Lyra giggled quietly, scratching his ears.

Oghren picked at his armor again, and muttered "Sod it. I would have thought saving the surface would have involved less...walking."

"Little legs getting tired?" Zevran said, a teasing tone in his voice.

"No. I can go all day. All night, too," Oghren said, and laughed lecherously. "But...I thought these people had animals. Horses 'n such."

"In Orlais, they do," Leliana piped up. "Here, only the nobility have horses, and even then it's not the rule. More like the exception."

"If you like, I could hoist you up on my back," Zevran said generously.

"Hey now, don't start with the-" Oghren said, offended.

"Yes! Climb up, and I'll cart you around like a child! Marvelous fun!" Zevran said, his tone wheedling.

"You knife-eared pipe-cleaner! You couldn't carry me on yer best day," Oghren said, but his tone was worried.

"Hmmm... Perhaps if you left behind the spirits, the battle axe, and lost two feet of beard..." Zevran mused.

"Forgit it. Jus' keep walking," Oghren growled, and Zevran chuckled.

"Come, Oghren...have a little fun," Zevran said teasingly.

"Not inta yer kinda fun, elf," Oghren grunted.

"Look," Alistair said. "Redcliffe Village. What's going on down there?"

They crested the hill, and looked down on the town. A festival of some kind was being prepared, and delicious smells drifted on the wind to reach their tired noses.

"Is it..." Lyra said, and then her eyes widened. "It is! Wynne, is it Summerday?"

"Oh my goodness," Wynne said. "I believe it is."

"What's Summerday?" Oghren asked.

"Festival for the ending of winter and the coming of summer," Alistair said, his eyes lit up with excitement. "There's food, dancing, and they bless the fields for fertility. Sometimes there's marriages, as well."

"Sounds like a right good party," Oghren said. "They got ale?"

"Sure," Alistair said. "Ale, wine, mead-"

"Well what'r we waitin' for? Redcliffe is callin'!" Oghren said, and began to jog down the mountain.

"He's been drunk the entire time. Do we even _have_ that much alcohol with us?" Lyra murmured. Alistair shrugged.

"I dunno. Why can't _I_ be drunk all the time?" Alistair said.

"Do you really need an answer to that?" Lyra said, amused.

They came down the path into Redcliffe, and the villagers greeted them enthusiastically. Everyone spread out, looking around, talking with acquaintances and friends made on the journey from Lothering.

"It's the Wardens!" Several women rushed to Alistair and hugged him as if he were related to them, fussing and exclaiming. Some younger ones just embraced him closely, their eyes shining, their laughs breathy and welcoming, much to Lyra's displeasure. He extricated himself awkwardly, smiling, but obviously wanting to get away.

"Will you come to the celebration tonight?" a girl with red braids asked, smiling prettily.

"Yes, will you?" a slender blonde asked. "I'm bringing mince pie, and Cora is bringing honeyed bread. There's a traveling troupe of musicians, and there'll be dancing-"

"Um, yes, I'll be there," Alistair said. "And Lyra will too, right?" He took her hand gently, and she squeezed it, smiling gratefully at him.

"Yes, I'll be there as well," she said, her voice gentle. The girls' faces fell slightly.

"Ladies, the name's Oghren. Can't wait to try the pie," Oghren said, grinning up at them. "Don't crowd, there's plenty of ol' Oghren to go around."

"Oh...um, we should get back to helping," the blonde said. She nudged her friend, who was staring at Oghren's beard in fascination. They moved off, the redhead glancing back over her shoulder from time to time. Alistair chuckled.

"Oghren, you're a lady killer," he said, and Oghren laughed.

"Once you go Oghren, you don't go back, my friend." He eyed Lyra and Alistair's hands and the way they were clasped together.

"So. You and the boss, eh?"

"Pardon?" Alistair asked.

"You and the boss. Rollin' yer oats."

"I don't know-"

"Polishin' the footstones."

"Oghren," Lyra said. "We're-"

"Tappin' the midnight still, if ya will." Oghren grinned, and began to chuckle to himself. "Knew I did a good thing, bringin' the two o' you together."

"What are you going on about?" Alistair said irritably.

"Forgin' the moaning statue. Buckin' the forbidden horse. Donnin' the velvet hat."

"Are you just making these up, right now?" Alistair said. His face was slightly pink, but he looked amused. Lyra had to admit, it was pretty funny, although her cheeks felt hot as well.

"Nope," Oghren said, and belched. "Been savin' em."

* * *

><p><em>AN: This chapter was threatening to become way, way too long, so I cut it off halfway through and will probably publish the remainder of this chapter later on today as a new chapter. Does that make sense? Sure, sure it does. I've come to appreciate stopping points...sometimes it's just tough to read a really long chapter all at once, even if it means the current storyline isn't all in one chunk. At least I update fast, right? ;-)_

_Thanks to WellspringCD for making me realize just what a culture shock the dwarves would go through when they see the surface world. Oghren is actually handling it well...I think it must be the alcohol._

_Kisses to all my awesome reviewers, and to those who have recently joined us! The Original Frizzi, Dreamhare, DinchtBaby, Pharin of the Dunedain, KnightOfHolyLight, Angelakane, FenZev, MagicalMimi and Berserkians Fury...you make my little heart sing. Thanks for taking the time to drop me a line. :-D _


	56. Summerday

CHAPTER 54

They settled themselves into Redcliffe Castle, welcomed heartily by Eamon and Conor. Isolde was pleasant enough, for her. Most of them rested that afternoon in preparation for the all-night celebration that typically came with Summerday. Isolde fussed over their clothing, and loaned summery dresses to Lyra and Leliana, refusing to allow them to wear armor to the celebration in the village. Alistair and Zevran were loaned tunics and trousers of Eamon's, as well. Morrigan refused loan of a dress, and Wynne demurred as well, saying she was fine with her robes. Oghren and Sten were problematic, and after much fretting by their host Sten finally told Isolde he would simply wear his leather tabard without the metal over-layers, and Oghren did the same. As afternoon began to make its way toward evening, everyone finished their personal preparations and they all went down to the village square. The area was transformed...there were tables set up with food and drink of all kinds, and fresh flowers and greenery were everywhere. The villagers were mostly barefoot, and many wore wreathes or garlands. Arl Eamon made his way to the platform of the Chantry steps, along with Isolde and Conor. Isolde wore a crown of flowers, and Eamon wore a green wreath in his gray hair.

"People of Redcliffe...we have come together this evening to celebrate another Summerday," Arl Eamon said from the platform by the Chantry. It was sunset, and the full moon could be seen rising through the trees. A soft breeze blew gently, and the scent of honeysuckle and lilac filled the air.

"This has been a year filled with hardship...we have lost friends and loved ones, but we are blessed to have welcomed new citizens to Redcliffe." The villagers looked around at each other, smiles on every face. "Our troubles are not yet over...the Blight is coming. But we will triumph, even over this. We are fortunate to have with us this evening the two who will bring the Blight to an end...Alistair and Lyra, our favorite Grey Wardens!"

"The only Grey Wardens," Alistair called back, and the village laughed heartily.

"Let us bow our heads," Mother Hannah said, and the village quieted.

"Maker, bless this Summerday. Bring life to our fields, bring joy to our hearts. Bring food to our tables, and bring happiness to our lives. Let us remember the blessings we share, and forget the sorrows we've suffered. At this time of new life, bless the women and men we join in marriage. May their unions be fruitful, their lives long, and their happiness eternal." Mother Hannah made a signal, and three couples stepped forward, hands clasped. The women were crowned with wreathes of fresh, white flowers, and they wore simple dresses with nothing on their feet. The men wore wreaths of greens in their hair, as well, and were also barefoot, dressed in their simple best. The villagers murmured in anticipation, and Lyra spotted more than one woman dabbing at her eyes...mothers of the young couples, for certain. Somewhere in the crowd, a baby cried, and the sound was abruptly cut off as the infant was undoubtedly offered the best of comforts.

Leliana came and clasped Lyra's hand, and leaned her head on her best friend's shoulder. "I love weddings," she murmured. On her other side, Alistair slipped his arm around Lyra's waist and pressed a kiss into her hair. Lyra thought momentarily of Alistair's wedding...and her joy dimmed a little. Alistair thought of the ring tucked away in his pack, and wondered how much longer he would have to wait to give it to her.

Mother Hannah conducted the simple ceremony, using age-old words whose meaning nevertheless brought tears to many eyes. She took a silver goblet filled with sweet spring water from couple to couple, and they drank, sealing their marriage in the eyes of the Maker. Three Chantry sisters wound bright ribbons around their clasped hands, binding them together symbolically. Then Mother Hannah blessed them individually, placing her hands on the men's heads and on the women's bellies. The villagers cheered as the couples kissed for the first time as husbands and wives, and then the music began.

"What the Maker has joined, let no man put asunder," Mother Hannah said. "The ceremony is ended, go in Peace."

"Redcliffe, Summerday is begun!" Arl Eamon said in a joyful voice, and the villagers clapped enthusiastically, and began to move off to various activities. In a sudden moment of inspiration, Wynne murmured softly and waved her staff, and magical lights suddenly bloomed from the eaves of the Chantry and in the trees, bringing a beautiful glow to the area. The townspeople gasped in admiration, and several gathered around Wynne, asking how she had done the trick.

Oghren swaggered off to sample the many beverages being offered at one table, and the Wardens gathered heaping plates of food. Leliana and Wynne joined them, and Morrigan disappeared into the woods, perhaps intent on keeping her own celebration. Zevran quickly found himself surrounded by beauties, and reveled in the attention, making them giggle and sigh. Sten began a serious conversation with Mayor Murdock, looking around once in awhile as though he were hoping to see someone.

Summerday was a time of the newest, wildest, freshest foods in order to celebrate the bounty of the earth, and Lyra and Alistair finally had the feast they had dreamed of in the Dragon's cave. There was rabbit, venison, and partridge, wild salads of green onion, dandelion and mustard leaves, berries of all kinds. An entire table was covered in cheese, and Alistair was in a kind of heaven, which Lyra teased him mercilessly about. Breads, cakes, and pies were plentiful, and sweet spring water was the only non-alcoholic beverage being served. Lyra filled a cup, remembering her recent hangover in Orzammar, and therefore having no desire whatsoever for anything stronger. Leliana soon joined the musicians, and happily played her lute along with all the rest.

"Dance with me?" Alistair said when they had finished, and Lyra took his hand with delight, surprised that he should ask. They joined the villagers in the center of the square in a coordinated dance where partners were traded and they spun about. Zevran was among the dancers as well, moving gracefully and adding his own exotic spin to the traditional moves. By the end of the song, Alistair and Lyra had danced with nearly everyone in the square, and more than a few girls were looking at Alistair with starry eyes.

"You're quite popular among the ladies," Lyra whispered, and Alistair grinned at her.

"Pretty sure Zevran's getting more attention than I am," he said, and Lyra had to agree...the elf was surrounded, and they were enthralled by his charming smile.

"He'll have his pick tonight, no doubt," Alistair remarked.

"I wonder about him, sometimes..." Lyra said. "Whether he's ever had a serious moment. It doesn't seem possible to me that anyone can be truly satisfied, having that many women...or men, I suppose, whatever you fancy, as he says. It's better to just have one that you really love." She twined her fingers through Alistair's, and he tipped her face up for a kiss.

"Let's get out of here," he whispered back. They snuck off quietly, headed for the castle.

Leliana sat herself down beside Wynne. "It's a lovely party, don't you think?"

"Yes, indeed. I haven't been to many Summerday celebrations...we kept our own traditions at the Circle, but it was never as free as this," Wynne said appreciatively. Zevran dropped down beside them, grinning from ear to ear.

"Wynne, my lovely Mage. Have you found anyone to spend the evening with?" he said lecherously, his eyebrows waggling.

"Zevran, I will never understand your fascination with me," Wynne said with exasperation.

"I tell you, it is your-"

"If you say my bosom, I will set your boots on fire," Wynne said calmly.

"Wynne, I am shocked! I was going to say, your sparkling wit and clever conversation," the assassin said, a hurt look on his handsome face.

"Oh, I'm certain _that__'s_ what you were going to say, Zevran," Wynne laughed, her eyes shining with mirth. "Fine. No, I haven't found anyone to spend the evening with. I rather think I will spend it with my books in my room at the castle."

"It is a shame. Such a magnificent bosom should not go lonely on Summerday," he said, and Wynne raised her staff threateningly. He popped up and ran off, laughing.

"He is _such_ a cad," Wynne said to Leliana.

"He's lonely," Leliana said.

Wynne looked at the bard, who was popping small berries into her mouth between sips of mead.

"How do you always know so much, Leliana?" Wynne said. Leliana smiled, and shrugged.

"People are easy to read. They wear their histories like clothing. Some are rumpled, some are clean and neatly pressed. The little tears, the blood and tear-stains, the jobs they've done of mending. I am an observant person," she said. "And I like to find things out."

"I doubt anyone could really get to know Zevran," Wynne remarked.

"You might be right about that. But I intend to try," Leliana said.

* * *

><p>Oghren saw Sten standing alone, watching the dancing. He made his way over, and cleared his throat and spat.<p>

"Lost your weapon, did you?" Oghren said.

Sten turned and looked at him, irritated. "What of it?"

"Swingin' an empty scabbard, then?" Oghren giggled.

The tiny muscle in Sten's neck worked back and forth, but he said nothing.

"Yer pike was purloined?" Oghren took a sip from his tankard, and then grimaced. "Surfacers can't brew. This is swill."

"Purloined? Did you have to look that one up?" Sten said irritably.

"Actually, the elf gave me that one. Ya hafta admit, it's good." Oghren said, and drank deeply.

"Why do you drink, if you do not like the ale?" Sten said.

"Drinkin' bad ale is like bein' with an ugly woman, Sten. Sometimes, ya just have to close your eyes and get it over with."

"Or you could choose not to be with the woman," Sten remarked. Oghren laughed maniacally, wiping tears from his eyes.

"That's funny, Sten. I like you. Ever play Diamondback?" Oghren said, regaining control of himself.

"This is a card game?" Sten said in his serious voice.

"Sure is. Played by noble-hunters in Orzammar...great way to get a girl's clothes off. C'mon, I'll teach ya," Oghren said, and Sten followed him doubtfully.

After listening to the music for awhile longer, Wynne stood, and made her way back to the castle, intending to get a full night of sleep in a proper bed. Leliana went back to the musicians, and they played and talked until the small hours of the night. Morrigan did not reappear, and Zevran found more than enough company to keep him busy throughout the evening. Sten and Oghren played cards and talked, and ended up getting supremely drunk, returning to the castle in the wee hours of the morning, singing joyously and leaning on each other. They collapsed in the courtyard, and were found in the morning by an astonished Ser Perth, who had them dragged into the stable and covered with blankets.

* * *

><p>"Then your business with the dwarves was successful!" Eamon said proudly, and Alistair nodded, spreading jam on a piece of heavy bread. Lyra sat beside him, drinking a glass of juice, and Wynne and Leliana were finishing their breakfasts as well. Kestrel was busily devouring a bowl of scraps in the corner. The rest of the party was nowhere to be seen.<p>

"It was. They'll arrive here in Redcliffe during the last week of Bloomingtide. From there, we can decide how best to move toward the Horde," Alistair said.

"For all we know, the Horde may come to us," Eamon said frankly. "You've done well, Wardens. We have approximately three weeks until the Landsmeet...enough time to get to Denerim and garner support. I haven't heard from Teagan, but he's probably settled in my estate by now, and beginning his own campaigns. I advise you to leave today or tomorrow, and make contacts in Denerim before the Landsmeet. The more nobles you meet with, the more likely it is you'll have their support in the final vote, Alistair. My own household will be leaving at the end of the week, but it will take us a bit less than two weeks to get there, what with the retainers, the servants, and Isolde and Conor."

"We can make it in a week, lightly burdened as we are," Alistair said. Eamon nodded, pleased.

"I'll send letters with you, to prove you are my choice for the throne. If you'll excuse me, I'll see about putting those together," Eamon said, and they nodded. Eamon stood and left the room.

Oghren stumbled in a few moments later, bits of hay in his beard, followed by Sten, who had a dark look on his face.

"Good morning, comrades," Leliana sang out. "Sleep well?"

"The dwarf tried to kill me," Sten said with a growl, and Oghren scoffed.

"No one forced you to drink, giant. Besides which, you're not dead, you're just hung over." Oghren climbed into a chair and began shoveling eggs and bread onto his plate.

"How is it you do not feel this same pain as I do?" Sten said, sitting down slowly. Wynne sighed and went to her room, muttering about drunken dwarves and wastes of talent.

"Because, giant," Oghren said, his mouth full, bits of egg dripping into his beard. "I never stop drinkin'."

"Good morning, everyone," Zevran breezed in. "Leliana, Lyra, you are looking absolutely beautiful this morning. And you, Alistair-"

"Save it, Zev," Alistair said shortly, and popped his last bite of bread into his mouth. Wynne returned momentarily, and handed Sten a cup of her magical tonic, then stretched her hands over his head. Lyra recognized the look of relief that came over his features.

"We leave for Denerim this afternoon," she said to no one in particular, and there were nods of agreement all around the table.

"Where did Morrigan get off to?" Leliana wondered.

Alistair shrugged. "Maybe she's off in the woods, celebrating some heathen version of Summerday. I'm sure she'll pop up anytime. She always does." He sipped from his juice cup, hoping that had come off as nonchalantly as he thought it did. He was doing his best, but the beautiful witch was in his thoughts more than he was willing to admit.

* * *

><p>Lyra headed into the village with Sten, Alistair and Kestrel. They made their way to the home of Dwyn, the dwarf.<p>

Lyra knocked, and after a moment, the door opened a crack.

"Warden. What are you doing here?" Dwyn's surly voice said.

"I hear you have a qunari sword in your possession. Is it true?" Lyra said frankly.

Dwyn looked at her for a moment. "Now why would you want to know about that?"

"It's mine," Sten growled. Dwyn took in Sten's glowering face and raised one eyebrow, then sighed noisily.

"You know, Faryn didn't mention that the giant he took the blade from was alive."

"Name your price," Lyra said, and Dwyn considered.

"Five sovereigns."

"Done," Lyra said, and handed him the money. Dwyn looked at the coins in disbelief, and then gestured to someone inside. A moment later, Dwyn passed an enormous sword through the doorway, and Lyra took it and handed it to Sten. Something like reverence passed over the qunari's face, and he gripped it tightly, looking as if his very soul had been returned to him.

"Are we done?" Dwyn said bluntly, and Lyra nodded and turned away. The door shut behind her.

"Asala..." Sten said softly, and then removed the bastard sword he'd been carrying and handed it to Alistair. He slid his greatsword into the sheath on his back, and sighed with relief and pleasure.

"Strange..." he murmured. "I had almost forgotten how it felt. Completion." A smile touched his lips, and then he looked curiously at Lyra and Alistair.

"Are you sure you are Grey Wardens? I think you must be ashkaari to find a single lost blade in a country at war."

"Is that a thank you, then?" Alistair said with a grin. "You're welcome."

"I would thank you, if I knew how...but I could deliver a much more satisfying answer to the Arishok's question if the Blight were ended...don't you agree?" For the first time, Lyra saw a smile come to Sten's features.

"Completely, Sten," Lyra said, smiling back, completely touched by the change in the man over the return of his lost sword.

"Then lead the way, Wardens," he said firmly. "I will follow you."

* * *

><p><em>AN: So, to Denerim we go. :-D_

_I'm over the moon that I posted the last chapter only three hours ago, and I've already gotten reviews from The Original Frizzi, Yuki-sama12, Berserkians Fury and FenZev. Thanks, guys. Here's hoping you enjoyed Summerday as much as Oghren did. :-D _


	57. Ambushed

CHAPTER 55

"Your hair, it is like golden fire, touched by the gods themselves. Your skin, it is like a white rose, kissed lovingly by the blush of sunset."

"Zev, your words are beautiful, but I'm not interested," Leliana said with a grin.

"Does that matter? Can I not compliment a woman who is so obviously deserving?" Zevran said, and swept her hand into his own to kiss it.

"And," he murmured against her knuckle. "Who says this is all about you?" He grinned at her lecherously.

"Taking your pleasure where you can find it?" Leliana teased. "You must be hard up. I thought you had..._fun._..in Redcliffe." She lingered over the word 'fun' to be certain he caught her meaning.

Zevran chuckled. "That was days ago. When you are Zevran, one night of _fun_ is not enough."

"Ah, yes. You are very virile, and women swoon at your feet," Leliana said dramatically. "It must have been a very glamorous life in Antiva, _non_?"

"Oh, glamorous enough," Zevran said. He spun her around playfully, and then hooked her arm through his as they walked. "As an assassin, I had plentiful time to pursue anything I wanted. When I was not on a job, of course. You understand."

"Better than anyone," Leliana agreed. "Surely you had friends among your compatriots. And perhaps a lover?"

Zevran looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "Ah, the bard is curious. You wish for me to sing you a little song, my fair songbird?"

"No man can be as exciting as you are, Zevran Arainai, and not have a great tragedy or two in his past," Leliana teased. "Tell me, so I may put it in the song I am writing."

Zevran chuckled. "That, my firebird, is off limits. Let us speak of you instead. Tell me of this...Marjolaine...I keep hearing about."

"Very well," Leliana said agreeably. "I shall tell you, and then you shall tell me."

"That is not what I said," Zevran scolded her silkily.

"But it is what _I_ said," Leliana said confidently.

"We shall see. Tell me your story, and perhaps I shall tell you mine," Zevran said easily enough.

"Then there _is_ a tragedy in your past," Leliana said, her eyes lighting up. Zevran laughed heartily.

* * *

><p>"What do you suppose they're talking about?" Lyra said to Alistair. Zevran and Leliana were walking ahead of the rest of the group, arm in arm. Zevran suddenly laughed loudly. Kestrel looked at Lyra and whined, straining toward the bard and the assassin.<p>

"No, leave them alone, Kestrel," she said absently. "Or bring me a stick, and I'll make Alistair throw it for you."

"_You_ throw it," he said, poking her in the ribs.

"You throw further than me," she said, poking him back. Kestrel bounded off, and returned with a stick. Lyra handed it to Alistair, who chucked it over his head into the grass. Kestrel raced off.

They'd been on the road three days, with four to go until Denerim. It was easy traveling...so easy, in fact, that it bothered Lyra a little. There had been no troubles in camp, no Darkspawn attacks. Wynne was moving at a good pace, so they were right on schedule. Oghren had even sobered up a little, and had kept his lecherous remarks to a minimum. With his sword back, Sten was almost a new person...he took watch every night, and had made himself Alistair's voluntary second in all things, scouting ahead often, much to the Warden's amusement.

Morrigan had met them on the road as they left Redcliffe on that first afternoon. She hadn't volunteered any information about where she might have gone during the Summerday celebration, and Lyra hadn't asked, nor had anyone else. The witch continued to keep her own counsel, and Lyra wasn't inclined to change their relationship. She found it hard to relate to Morrigan. It seemed that the witch and Alistair were not as close as they had been, either, which Lyra was grateful for. Morrigan continued to build her own fire away from the others at night, and continually studied her grimoires. Lyra wondered how much more she could possibly learn from the books.

The day passed without incident, and they camped that night near a grove of trees. Leliana roasted a brace of pheasants, wrapped in leaves and stuffed with fragrant herbs. Morrigan and Wynne put together a delectable dish of wild carrots and onions, roasted over the coals with a precious sprinkling of salt. Kestrel contributed a few hares, and Oghren offered around some of his ever-present brew, which no one was eager to taste.

"Where are you getting all of this alcohol, Oghren?" Zevran asked curiously.

Oghren burped. "Filled up at Redcliffe. Got a keg in my bag. Hadta alter it a little...not strong enough fer me."

"How does one alter a brew that has already been made?" Zevran asked, puzzled, and then shook his head. "No, never mind, don't tell me. Whatever you did to it, it would be better if I never found out."

Darkness closed in, and the camp settled down. Lyra and Alistair snuggled into their blankets, staring at the stars, murmuring idly to each other. They fell asleep in short order, cuddled close.

Their eyes flew open a few hours later, and Lyra and Alistair sat straight up and looked at each other in panic. As one, they threw back the bedroll and began reaching for armor and weapons.

"Up! Up, everyone!" Lyra cried. "Sten! Wake the others!"

"Darkspawn!" Alistair yelled. "A lot of them!"

The camp began buzzing madly as people came awake. Zevran and Leliana jumped up from where they'd been sitting and talking by the fire. Leliana ran to Lyra's side, intent on helping her get armored up.

"Forget it," Lyra cried. "They're nearly here!" She shucked the plate she was struggling with and settled for just the leather, quickly buckling her greaves around her lower legs and jamming her helmet onto her head. Alistair was doing much the same, and she breathed a prayer that they wouldn't pay for their deadly mistake.

Seconds later, the darkspawn poured through the trees, howling with rage. Hurlocks slavered as they tore into the camp, heading straight for the Wardens. Bolts of fire and light flew at them, and some fell in their tracks, cut down by the magical attacks of the mages.

Alistair pulled his sword, and the metal sang as it left the sheath. Fire and lightning danced along the scalloped blade, and he swung it mightily, taking off the head of the nearest Hurlock. He bellowed a challenge, and the Darkspawn swarmed toward him.

"Alistair, you idiot!" Lyra cried, and began carving a path through the sea of Darkspawn that surrounded the ex-templar. The fool had nearly no armor on, and her heart pounded with wild worry. Sten roared, and charged into the fray, his greatsword dealing death with every arc. Oghren's battle cry could be heard on the other side, and bolts of magic continued to do damage, weakening the Darkspawn even more.

Alistair was surrounded, and more Darkspawn were congealing around Lyra as well as she fought to reach her fellow Warden. Leliana's cry brought recognition back to Lyra, and she spun in time to parry a wild swing. Kestrel clawed and ripped with his teeth, and then Lyra heard him yelp in pain. Her heart leaped in terror as she frantically battled off two more Hurlocks, cutting them down before they could quite reach her. Leliana was beside her, and together they fought through to Alistair, who was using sword and shield to good effect.

A few more possessed moments, and then it was over. Bodies littered the camp, and Lyra rushed to Alistair's side, checking him over for wounds.

"You bloody fool! You can't always do that," she scolded him. "They're attracted to the Taint as it is...when you taunt them, you can get overwhelmed really quickly. Maker's ass, Alistair. Don't scare me like that." Her tone was annoyed, but Alistair could hear the fear behind it, and he nodded, understanding. She wasn't truly angry.

"Yes, dear," he said, and then winced. "Get Wynne?" The healer was already there, and hovered her hands over his body, scanning for injuries.

"Cracked rib," she said. "Hold still, Alistair."

"Lyra..." Leliana called. "Come see Kestrel."

The memory of her Mabari's yelp came crashing back, and she hurried to check on him. Kestrel was lying in a huddled heap beside Leliana, and he licked her hand feebly. An enormous gash was ripped into his side, and dark blood was dripping quickly into the grass.

"Kestrel..." Lyra said softly, her eyes filling with concern. She called to the Mage, "Wynne, Kestrel's badly hurt. Can you help him?"

Wynne finished ministering to Alistair, and hurried over. "Oh, dear. Yes...give me a moment." She went to her bag and fetched a jar, opening it as she returned.

"Hold his head, Lyra," Wynne said, and Lyra petted and coddled Kestrel while Wynne smoothed salve into the jagged tear in his skin. The bleeding stopped, and then Wynne sent healing tendrils of energy into the Mabari's body. Kestrel buried his head in Lyra's hands and whimpered, and she pressed her face against his, murmuring soothing words.

"There now...better, boy?" Wynne said fondly, and Kestrel licked her hands.

"You were so brave, Kestrel," Lyra said, and pressed a kiss onto his nose. He whined, and then settled his head between his paws, seeming to want to rest.

"Is he okay?" Alistair asked worriedly.

"He should be fine," Wynne said. "But he'll need quiet for the rest of the night. And you should rest as well, Alistair...healing like that takes a lot of energy out of you, and the body has demands. Eat something, drink, and then sleep."

Lyra fetched Kestrel some leftover meat from dinner, and some water. He lapped at it, but refused the food, and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Sten and Oghren finished hauling the bodies out of camp, and then Oghren took over guard duty, joined by Lyra after she had armored up completely. No one slept very well for the rest of the night, and sunrise was slow in coming. When the golden orb finally peeked over the horizon, Lyra made yet another check on her Mabari.

His breathing seemed labored, although his cut was healed, the fur clean and smooth. His eyes opened at her touch, and he whined.

"What's wrong, boy?" she whispered with concern, and he nuzzled her hand, his nose hot and dripping. Bits of white flecked his lips, and his eyes were yellowed around the rim.

* * *

><p>"He may have been Tainted," Wynne said sadly.<p>

"No..." Lyra said, horror tinging her voice. "He's ingested Darkspawn blood. I thought he might've been immune..."

"It's possible that Mabari can process the blood through their systems, but not fight it if it enters through another point. A dog's stomach is naturally much stronger than a human's...they can handle all sorts of bacteria that we cannot," Wynne said. "But that cut...I've healed it, but if he's Tainted, there's nothing I can do."

"Kestrel..." Lyra said, tears filling her eyes. She leaned down and put her forehead to his, and hot tears began to drip onto his fur. The dog had been her constant companion for the last five years, and she loved him dearly. He was also her last link to her old life, and to lose him now would hurt more than she could possibly imagine. Alistair sat beside her, petting Kestrel's fur softly, a sad look in his eyes.

"Wardens...I may be able to help," Morrigan's soft voice said. Lyra looked up at her.

"Really?" she whispered. Morrigan nodded.

"I am not certain, but...allow me to try," she said. "I must collect some plants. 'Twill not take long."

"Can I help?" Lyra asked, wiping her eyes.

"There is no need. Remain with your pet. I shall return shortly." The witch strode off purposefully.

Leliana brought breakfast to them, but Lyra couldn't eat. She talked softly to the Mabari, reassuring him, but it was clear that the dog was growing weaker. Alistair was nearly as upset as Lyra, and the atmosphere in the camp was somber.

Morrigan returned after not very long, and hurried to her fire. She consulted her books, and began tossing herbs into a pot, adding water and drops of something from a green bottle. She chanted in an unrecognizable, arcane tongue, waving her staff and making strange gestures. Lyra watched anxiously, wondering exactly what Morrigan hoped to accomplish. The Taint was incurable...wasn't it?"

Shortly afterward, Morrigan brought a stone bowl over to them. "Have him drink this," she said, and Lyra took the bowl and held it under Kestrel's nose. The Mabari seemed to understand, and he lapped slowly at the liquid, consuming it all over the course of a few minutes.

Almost instantly, his eyes began to clear. Morrigan stepped up and pulled a knife from her hip.

"I must cut him," she said. "The infection must drain. Will he allow it?"

Kestrel whuffed, and stretched out invitingly. Morrigan knelt, and made a clinical incision in the dog's side, and then murmured softly, indecipherably. A red glow suffused the outline of the cut, and then it was absorbed inward, seemingly sucked into the Mabari's body.

Black fluid began to pool and drip from the wound. Lyra's eyes widened, and her breath caught in awe. The dark ichor hissed and smoked as it hit the grass, and in a few moments, the trickle slowed to a drip, and then Morrigan brought forth a piece of cloth and wiped the wound clean.

"Bandage the cut with this salve," she said, holding forth a tiny vial. Lyra took it with shaking fingers and applied the liquid, and then wrapped Kestrel with strips of linen. He _looked_ better already...her heart flared with hope.

"Will he live?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"It seems to have gone well. I would not venture an opinion just yet...but it does seem likely," Morrigan said, and Lyra stood and embraced the witch tightly, shaking with tears.

Morrigan was visibly taken aback, but she slowly returned the embrace, unsure of how to handle Lyra's sudden closeness.

"Thank you, Morrigan," Lyra whispered, and kissed the witch's cheek. She pulled away, and knelt beside Kestrel again. Alistair smiled gratefully up at the witch, and she returned his smile, hoping her cure would, indeed, _be _a cure. She went slowly back to her fire, intent on cleaning up and readying to leave.

* * *

><p>Within an hour, Kestrel was up and about, drinking plenty of water and devouring breakfast. Lyra laughed with delight to see him so turned around.<p>

"I cannot understand it," Wynne said, looking at the dog. "I was certain he would die."

"Morrigan did it," Lyra said, her eyes shining. The witch had been moved to hero status in her mind, and she was ready to forgive anything after the saving of Kestrel's life.

"She did indeed," Wynne said, bemused. "I wish I knew how."

"Do you know what this means?" Alistair said eagerly. "It means the Taint is curable!"

"No, it's not," Morrigan said. She dropped down beside them, having just come over from her fire. "My grimoires said the Taint could be countered, but only within a day of contracting it. I wasn't certain it would work for a Mabari, but it seems it worked even better than I had hoped. I daresay we could travel today." Kestrel barked happily, and went to Morrigan to gently lick her chin and nuzzle her neck. She chuckled, and hugged him close.

"I have grown fond of you, canine. 'Twas no trouble," she said affectionately.

"Morrigan..." Lyra said hesitantly. "I'm sorry for any bad blood between us."

Morrigan looked at the Warden in surprise. "There is no need for apologies, my friend. I am still learning how to move in your society, and doubtless that has caused some discomfort for everyone. But you need not be _sorry_ for it."

Lyra reached over and took the witch's hand and squeezed it. Morrigan looked at their hands, and a slight smile crossed her face.

* * *

><p>They continued toward Denerim, more alert than before. Lyra and Alistair each stood constant guard now, one at each watch, along with someone else. It tired the Wardens out as they traded off guard shifts, but neither of them was willing to be caught as they had before. Sten was constantly on alert, and urged the Wardens to get some sleep, but neither Lyra nor Alistair would hear of it. One close call had been enough.<p>

They were a day out of Denerim when the attack came. Not Darkspawn, this time...an ambush. They were walking through a small, woodsy canyon, and the path fell steeply away on one side. The sound of leaves rustling made Sten whip his head around, and he shouted a warning as a crossbow bolt flew across the trench toward Alistair. He snapped his shield up, and the muted _thunk_ of the bolt sinking into the wood made Lyra's heart jump.

"Get the redhead, and kill the rest!" a rough voice yelled. Wynne's staff sent a shock of energy flying at an enemy mage, preventing her from casting a spell. The mage fell, shivering as electricity shot through her body. Lyra dashed along the path, coming down to the bridge and leaping nimbly across. She bull-rushed one of the attackers, taking him by surprise with her speed, and cut him down. Alistair dashed past her and continued up the hill to challenge a huge warrior sporting a horned helmet. He roared a battle cry and lashed out with his shield, but the warrior braced himself and stood firm. Oghren and Zevran joined Lyra in quickly dispatching the other attackers, and Sten charged up the hill to assist Alistair.

Leliana pulled her bow from her back and began loosing arrows, and between herself and the Mages they did significant damage to the remaining attackers. It was only a few seconds later when Alistair and Sten felled the warrior at the top of the hill, and Leliana called out, "Don't kill him!"

Alistair pulled back, breathing hard. He pressed the point of his sword into the mercenary's neck, and said quietly, "I'd advise stillness, friend." The mercenary hissed in pain, gripping his side where Alistair's sword had pierced through leather and metal. His face was ashen, and sweat beaded his features.

Leliana came hurrying up the hill. Lyra was beside her in a moment, and the two of them knelt beside the mercenary.

"What did you mean, "Get the redhead"?" Lyra asked.

The mercenary panted. "We was 'ired. She's wanted in Denerim - wanted by someone important."

Leliana looked at the man in surprise. "Who could want..." her voice trailed off, and she paled.

"Who hired you?" Lyra said. "We have a healer, and answers will mean your life."

"I donno 'oo i'was. Paper's in my bag - we was to report back to a safe'ouse when the deed was done," the man said, and clenched his eyes shut. "Lady, kill me or 'eal me - I got nothin' else to tell." Zevran was already rifling through his sack, and passed a paper to Leliana, who read it quickly.

Lyra looked at the bard, whose face had gone dark as she read the missive.

"Wynne?" Leliana said, and stood up to walk away. The healer hurried over, and Alistair stepped back, keeping his sword at the ready in case the man tried anything funny. In a moment, the mercenary stood, and Leliana looked at him distastefully.

"You were an expendable pawn in a game, you know. Be careful who you hire yourself out to. Your next target may not spare your life." The man nodded, and looked hesitantly at Alistair's sword.

"Go, before I change my mind," Leliana snarled, and the man began tripping away, glancing back with wide eyes.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thanks for being here, guys. Much love. :-D_


	58. Arrival in Denerim

CHAPTER 56

Leliana walked purposefully back down the trail as the mercenary took the opportunity to flee for his life. Lyra looked worriedly at her, and then gave chase.

"Leliana - " she called, and the bard paused, running her hands over her hair. The rest of their companions followed, resuming the trek toward Denerim.

Lyra took Leliana's hand gently, and squeezed it, continuing to hold it as they walked. "Who's looking for you, Leli?" she asked.

"Marjolaine," Leliana said softly. Lyra sucked in a breath of surprise.

"I thought she was in Orlais," Lyra said. Leliana laughed a little.

"So did I..." she breathed, and then looked down, her features stoic, masking the emotion that must lurk underneath.

"I should have expected it...she _would_ come after me eventually. That attack - that was sloppy. No traps, no stealth...But she obviously didn't intend to kill us. Those men, they were amateurs. She wants to talk," Leliana said grimly.

"Are you scared?" Lyra asked. Leliana's face crumpled, all of her careful, carefree demeanor slipping away to land in the mud, and she nodded.

"Lyra, help me," she sobbed, and Lyra pulled her into an embrace. A moment later, Alistair's arms went around them, followed by Wynne's, and then Sten's, and then Zevran's. Morrigan and Oghren stood off to the side, watching awkwardly as everyone surrounded Leliana with a circle of love and support, and then Oghren turned to Morrigan.

"How 'bout it?" Oghren said, and opened his arms to the witch.

"Be serious," she said with disbelief, and Oghren shrugged.

"Seemed like the thing to do," he said, and sipped from his flask.

Leliana began to laugh as everyone hugged her. "You're all very nice..." she said, sniffling a little.

"Leliana, we love you dearly. You've reached out to all of us," Wynne said. "We'll do whatever is necessary to help you. Tell us what you need. We stand ready."

Leliana laughed again, and then began to cry in earnest. She let go of Lyra and hugged each of the party members in turn, including Morrigan and Oghren, who giggled lasciviously.

"I love all of you," Leliana said, happiness mingling with the tears brightening her eyes. "Tonight, we must talk. In camp. I will tell you all everything I know."

* * *

><p>The sun set. The woods were coming to an end, and a well-worn path marked the beginning of civilization. They made camp in the safety of the trees, taking advantage of one last night of cover under the old trees. Leliana gathered them all together after dinner, and outlined what she knew about Marjolaine.<p>

"This paper lists the location of a safehouse, along with my physical description, as well as all of yours, and a map of our projected route from Redcliffe. Obviously, she had spies watching us, perhaps even in Orzammar. She's done her research. See this mark? It's Marjolaine's," Leliana said. "A code symbol she used in our private communique. She _wanted_ me to find out where she was, to come for her."

"If all she wants is to talk, wouldn't it be easier to simply send you a message?" Alistair asked. "Are you certain she didn't want you dead?"

"It _was_ a message...but it was also a test," Leliana said. "A way of making sure it was really me. Those men couldn't have killed me...not with the training I've had. She lists her location, here...if all she desired was my death, she wouldn't make it so easy for me to find her."

Zevran was nodding. "It makes sense. The Crows would do something similar. Be certain she is surrounded by heavy protection, my firebird. We must be prepared."

"So what do you advise?" Lyra asked, crossing her arms and leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees.

"We go there," Leliana said. "A direct approach. I have nothing to hide, and with such staunch friends at my side, I do not doubt we can take on whatever she might throw at us. Marjolaine will be looking for stealth...by marching in, we declare ourselves to be unafraid, and stronger than she is."

"And what of you, Leliana?" Zevran asked. "Are you prepared to meet Marjolaine again? Say the word, and I will kill her for you...no need for you to get involved."

"No, Zev...I must do this," Leliana said softly. "It is a chapter of my life that I would see ended, one way or another."

Zevran nodded in understanding. "Not everyone gets such an opportunity. We will see that you get your meeting. And what will you do? Is it Marjolaine's death you desire? Or perhaps reconciliation?"

Leliana went silent, and stared down at the paper in her hands. The fire crackled loudly, sending sparks into the darkened sky that flared and then faded, leaving nothing behind. Her voice was low.

"I don't know," she murmured. "Marjolaine tried to kill me. I loved her more than anything...she was my life. The world revolved around her for so long...seeing her again, I really don't know what it will do to me." She looked up, and met each of their eyes.

"I have come to love all of you, so much. You are my family now...that is why I am trusting you with this. I know you will support me," Leliana said, and everyone nodded and murmured agreement.

"Then to Denerim in the morning. I will wait until you say we have time to pursue this, Lyra, Alistair. Your political pursuits must come before my personal ones," she said.

The informal meeting broke up after that, and Sten took up his usual post as guard. Lyra prepared to patrol beside him when Alistair caught her hand and pulled her away.

"Come with me," he murmured. She hesitated, feeling a flush of heat and desire at the look in his eyes.

"But, the camp..." she said weakly. Days of forced celibacy along with the inability to even _sleep_ beside her love was making her climb the walls. As soon as one of them got into bed, the other got up to make use of Grey Warden senses, making certain there would be no surprises.

"It won't be long," Alistair said. "Just...walk with me. Sten is taking care of everything."

Lyra glanced back at the camp, and then threaded her fingers through his and allowed him to lead her into the woods.

They were silent for a time, listening to the sounds of the night all around them as they walked. Crickets chirped, lending romance to the evening, and a soft breeze moved through the trees. The forest smelled fresh and clean, with none of the odors that came with living in the city.

"Lyra...are you happy?" Alistair asked. She turned to him with a puzzled smile on her face.

"Of course I am...I'm happier than I think I ever have been," she said simply. "I have you."

"Lyra..." he whispered happily, and pulled her close. They stood, simply holding each other, enjoying the feel of their bodies pressed close, even through armor and layers of padding. Lura nestled her face in his neck, and then pressed her mouth gently against his skin. Alistair groaned in response, and threaded his fingers into her hair to bring her lips to his in a heart melting kiss.

"Things are going to be different, in Denerim. It won't be just us anymore...it might not be just us ever again. Not after tonight," Alistair murmured sadly, leaning his forehead against hers and twining a lock of her hair around his finger. "Do you remember the first night we spent together, in the Gnawed Noble?"

"No, not really," Lyra joked, her eyes shining with the memory. "Why, did something momentous happen that night?" She lifted her face to his and kissed him hungrily, sliding her fingers through his hair and feeling her body temperature rise.

Alistair responded eagerly, clasping her close and breathing deeply, inhaling the scent that was so uniquely her...the soap she used, well-worn leather, a slight tang of rusted metal and dried sweat mingled with the heady scent of her skin and hair. Her lithe, muscled body was firm under his hands, and he thought about the ring in his pouch. It had been constantly on his mind, and he had been trying desperately since Orzammar to reconcile her noble status and their collective duty with his personal feelings. Eamon counseled waiting...but he wasn't sure he could. He was on the verge of pulling the ring out when she began to speak.

"Alistair...I can't believe we found each other in all of this," she said softly. "I honestly never expected to find someone who would love me _just _for me, without any of my ties or status. I always expected to marry for those reasons, expected that some man would use me to climb political ladders, no matter how much I might have wanted to find real love. And now...I don't care what happens to us. You need to do what's right for the kingdom, and I'll support you in every way. As long as we can be together, I won't care if you have ten other women." She pulled back slightly, and grinned at him. "Um...don't take that as an invitation, I'd actually get really jealous," she said jokingly, and then became serious again.

"I love you. That's all that matters to me...us, just like this. You're everything," she said, and leaned her head against his chest.

Alistair had frozen in his movements when she began to speak, and moved his hand away from his pouch, convinced that this was definitely not the right time to ask questions. _Later..._ he thought, a little sadly. They had time. For now, it was enough just to be with her.

"I love you too, Lyra," he whispered. "No matter what happens, no matter who may come between us. I will always love you."

They held each other quietly for a moment, and Lyra's heart was full to the brim. Then something occurred to her.

"Tonight...it's sort of our last night together as just Grey Wardens, isn't it?" she said quietly. "Tomorrow, you'll be Prince Alistair, and I'll be Lady Cousland."

"Yep..." he said. "We'll never be really alone again." They looked at each other for a moment, and then they both began pulling off articles of armor and clothing, nearly falling over in their eagerness to undress. It became a desperate competition against time, before someone would call for them, before someone would need them more than they needed each other.

Alistair pulled his shirt off and tossed it to the ground, then shucked his pants, beating her in their unspoken race. Lyra was stripped to her tunic and pulling off a sock, and Alistair grabbed her wrists and pressed her up against a tree, claiming her lips in a reckless kiss and opening his mouth eagerly. She moaned into him, sealing their mouths together, straining her body against his even as her wrists were held against the smooth bark behind her. She curled her bare toes into the soft moss at her feet, delighting in the feeling of being so free. Alistair shifted his lips to her neck and sent shivers of delight and wanton need through her body. He slid one hand down her side and hooked her knee upward, pulling her closer into him and making her groan.

"Maker, I've missed you..." Lyra shuddered, and he laughed breathlessly.

"Does this... _need.._. end? Will we still be doing this in a year, or three, or ten?" he said, and reached down to pull her shift over her head. She lifted her hands in compliance and he tossed the tunic away.

"I hope so... I hope we always feel this passionate," she said, and caressed her hands over his abdomen, an earthly pleasure slipping through her as she felt the hard musculature of his body. Her hands slid up to his neck, and she joined her lips with his once more. Alistair reached deftly around her back and untied her breast band, tossing it lightly away and crushing her body against him. He groaned lightly to feel her breasts, bare and beautiful, pressed against his skin. She reached down and grasped his erection in one hand, her eyes rolling slightly as she felt her body respond, already completely prepared for him and thrumming with the beat of her heart. Their kiss became more heated, and breaths quickened, and then Alistair slid her smallclothes to the ground. She stepped out of them lightly, then pushed him down to lie on his back on the grass.

She stepped easily over him and lowered herself down, sitting lightly on top of him, her knees to either side of his body. Alistair felt the brush of her silky hair on his stomach, the heat of her inner thighs, and drew a shuddering breath of anticipation. She leaned down and kissed him slowly, fitting herself against his body but denying him entry just yet. His hands gripped her hips, and then slid up her back, trailing lightly on her skin and raising goosebumps on her flesh. A cool breeze picked up and added to the deliciously exposed feeling that quivered over Lyra, making her skin tingle and sing.

"Lyra..." Alistair whispered. His eyes fluttered shut, and he sighed in pleasure. "You're teasing me."

"A little," she whispered back. She began to work her hips back and forth, causing friction, creating sensation. The feeling of him pressed against her, so close and yet not yet within her, was powerful almost to the point of pain. Alistair lifted his chin toward the night sky, groaning in want, and Lyra gave up, his voice stirring her own desire past the breaking point. She maneuvered her body carefully and inwardly embraced his shaft, allowing him to glide slowly into her. A quiet sound of satisfaction escaped her throat as she rode into him, bringing their hips together in a gratifying bond. Lyra clasped Alistair's hands and moved their arms over his head to rest in the grass, bringing their bodies close. She kissed him lingeringly as she held their position, not quite ready to begin moving yet. He strained into her, his kiss growing desperate, and he gripped her hands tightly. She pulled away and began to kiss his face softly, calming him with her deliberate movements. Her body thrummed with desire, and she tightened inwardly, causing him to gasp.

"Don't do that, woman..." he murmured. "Not if you want this to last..."

She chuckled, then sat up and settled herself more deeply against him, sinking down until he was buried to the hilt. He reached up and held her waist, staring in love and awe at her silhouette, lovely in the moonlight. She leaned her head back in pleasure, and they began to move together.

* * *

><p>One very passion-filled hour later, Lyra and Alistair were reassembling themselves. Alistair pulled his socks on, and then began fastening his boots.<p>

"You...are amazing," he said softly, and Lyra smiled playfully at him, tightening her greaves.

"I had the best teacher," she replied.

"Thank him for me sometime," Alistair said, grinning .

Lyra finished with her greaves and crawled over to him, kissing him softly.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he leaned his forehead against hers and brushed her nose softly with his own. He thought with regret of the ring still hidden in his pouch, and vowed that he _would_ give it to her...soon.

* * *

><p>They entered Denerim the next morning. Oghren was fit to be tied, looking around at everything with the wonder of a child. His eyes were everywhere, and without warning he was knocked sideways as someone pushed past him.<p>

"Thunderhumper!" he yelled after the retreating form.

"Oghren, come on," Alistair said. "We're going to Eamon's estate. Teagan should be there already, and we can find out what our first steps should be."

"I gotta craving for some spit-roasted nug with hot sauce. Think they have that here?" Oghren asked, looking longingly at a food vendor.

"Well...I don't think nug has much of a market outside Orzammar, unfortunately. I'll have to see about that," Alistair said thoughtfully.

They hurried across the square and into the part of town where the nobles made their homes, the streets growing quieter, the smells of the market giving way to the softer scents of gardens and flowing water. They passed through the enormous gates leading to Eamon's city home, Alistair leading the way. Marble statuary and green hedges lined the walkway, and a beautiful fountain inlaid with colored tile took center stage in the courtyard.

"This Eamon's estate?" Oghren said, his voice impressed.

"This is it. We always came here in the winters...it's the season for parties and posh events." Alistair said.

"It's wonderful," Leliana said delightedly, taking in the stone benches and the quiet walkways lined with flowers.

"They should replace the water in that fountain with ale," Oghren remarked, and then looked at Lyra defensively when her mouth dropped open. "What? It's just an idea."

"Alistair! Lyra, here you are!" Teagan's voice called out, and they waved to him from his place on a balcony. "Come in - I'll meet you downstairs," Teagan called, and they headed toward the doors. A moment later, a servant pulled the bar and they were invited inside.

The interior of the estate was as beautiful as the exterior...a trifle dark, but Lyra saw plenty of windows that begged to be opened and their draperies drawn back. The house simply had not been opened up fully, and she saw much in the way of simple elegance. Isolde had excellent taste, if stuffy personality.

"Lyra..." a happy voice said, and Lyra's eyes widened. Her heart began to soar.

"Fergus?" she said breathlessly, and then she was running and laughing and throwing her arms around her brother. He scooped her up into a tight hug, and they both laughed and cried and held each other tightly. Leliana looked rapturously at Wynne, who smiled happily to see the siblings reunited.

"I thought you were dead..." Lyra sobbed happily. "And here you are!" She stepped back to look at him gladly. He was thinner than she remembered...more defined. New lines decorated his face, and she thought she saw a few strands of gray in his dark hair. His eyes were careworn...she imagined he'd been dealing with the deaths of their parents - and his wife and child - in much the same way she had, but his pain was no doubt even worse than her own. For now, though, he looked thrilled, and she was over the moon to see her brother standing before her. _He was here in Denerim... Just as__ Father told me,_ she thought with amazement.

"Here I am," he agreed, grinning widely. "Teagan found me here in Denerim. I was glad to get a proper roof over my head...I was trying to keep a low profile, and was taking volunteer jobs with the guard to keep me in enough coin to afford a room at the Pearl." He made a face. "Ever try living in a brothel? I don't recommend it."

"Heh, heh," Oghren said, and Lyra was reminded of her companions. Teagan came down the stairs as she completed the introductions, and he shook hands with Oghren gravely. Oghren wiped his nose crudely.

"Nice digs, Teagan," Oghren said. Lyra bit back a chuckle, and then took Alistair's hand gravely.

"Fergus..._this_ is Alistair," she said with a proud smile, and her brother held out his hand.

"Lyra mentioned you in her letter. I'd like to talk with you some, a bit later...but for now, I welcome you, Alistair," Fergus said, and Alistair clasped his hand warmly.

"I'd like that, Fergus," he said, and they shook hands. Alistair looked at Lyra.

"For now, perhaps Teagan can get us all settled into rooms, and you and Fergus can catch up?" he said, and Lyra smiled gratefully at him and let her pack slide from her shoulders. She handed it to Alistair, who slung it over his own shoulder.

"See you later," she murmured, and kissed his cheek, and then she hooked her arm through Fergus' outstretched one and followed him out to a small patio. The others trailed after Teagan, and Lyra could hear Oghren commenting on the simplicity of the stonework.

"So that's him," Fergus said teasingly. "The man who captured your heart and tamed your unwomanly ways."

"Fergus!" she said exasperatedly. "I can still kick your ass, so don't make me prove it." They sat at a small table overlooking the gardens, near enough to touch.

"I never doubted it for a moment, sister. Or should I say, Grey Warden?" he said, his eyes sparkling with pride. "My sister, a Warden...You have no idea how glad I am to see you."

"I do, believe me..." Lyra said fervently. "After Ostagar, I was sure I'd never see you again...that you'd been killed."

"I was injured, but not badly. My group got tended by a sympathetic mage healer, and then we tried to go home. Highever's been taken over by Arl Howe...he's firmly installed there," Fergus said quietly. "I had no one - no troops, just a few men who'd survived with me. There was nothing we could do but sit and watch for a few days, and then come to the conclusion that it would be suicide to try and oust Howe."

Lyra hesitated over her next words, but there was no way _not_ to say them. Putting it off wouldn't lessen the pain.

"Fergus...you know about Mother and Father, and ...Oriana, and Oren, then..." Lyra said, a lump in her throat. She clasped his hand tightly.

Fergus stared off across the garden, a haunted look in his eyes. "I know," he said quietly. "I spent the better part of three weeks raving like a lunatic. If it weren't for Roderick-"

"Roderick Gilmore? He's alive?" Lyra's heart leapt into her throat. "We had to leave him in Highever! He made it out?" Her childhood friend, alive!

"He did. He found our camp outside Highever Castle, the day after we arrived...it was him who told me all that happened. I wanted to die..." Fergus said softly. "I felt like there was nothing left for me on earth. I begged the Maker to take me, too, and I would have ended my life a dozen times if Roderick hadn't been there to stop me." Lyra leaned forward and hugged Fergus, tears welling in her eyes. His arms went around her as well, and they cried together, venting the grief that had become so close a part of them for so very long. They cried and cried...and when they calmed, one of them would bring up a memory, and the tears would start anew. But flesh has its limits, and after a quiet hour of closeness and soft words, their tears began to run out at last. Lyra felt a peace within herself, at long last...a weight she hadn't known she carried was lifted, and she felt exhausted, but free. Fergus looked lighter as well, and he smiled at her lovingly.

"Sister...Mother and Father wouldn't want us to grieve anymore," Fergus said, and she nodded.

"You're right." She sniffed, and blew her nose in Alistair's handkerchief yet again, having used it often over the last hour. "Maker, but it feels good to talk with you!"

"It does," Fergus said. "Now, happier things. I've spent more time crying these past months, and I'm heartily sick of it. So tell me. When's the wedding?" He raised a suggestive eyebrow and grinned at her.

"Ha. Well, that's an interesting subject," she said, and explained everything to Fergus. Alistair's heritage, their duty as Wardens, and the problem of an heir. Fergus sat back and gave a low whistle.

"If I know anything about the nobility here in Ferelden, it'll be a field day when it's spread about that Alistair needs a queen who can give him an heir. He'll have more women than he knows what to do with," Fergus said. "Really, you'd be the best choice. You're smart - I half think Father would have made you Teyrna after him, and made me the commander of the army. Can _he_ even have children? Why can't you just take on a ward?"

"Eamon seems to think the bloodline more important, and Alistair doesn't want bastard children," Lyra said. "Frankly, the idea doesn't appeal to me, either...I'd rather see the kingdom accept him fully, without any stain of scandal."

"Yet you think you can just be his mistress, and that won't cause a scandal," Fergus said. "Wake up, Lyra."

"I know..." she said softly. "I didn't want to think about it. I'll be his advisor, or something, and we'll just have to be discreet."

"Have you slept with him yet?" Fergus asked bluntly.

"Fergus!" she said, shocked.

"Have you? Because Teagan seems to think you're sharing blankets, and I heard interesting talk from the servants. They seemed quite taken with the romance of it all." Fergus leaned forward. "I could give two bits what you do behind closed doors, Lyra - you're an adult, and so am I. As I said, you're smart. But my point is that you can't think people won't _know_. Ferelden will talk. No matter what happens after Alistair is crowned, you'll always be suspect. You should just marry him."

"You say that as if I have a choice, Fergus," she flared. "If it was up to me, I'd marry him today! But I _can't_," she said, and dropped her head into her hands.

"Well...maybe it won't work out. Maybe Alistair will lose the landsmeet, and then you won't have to worry about any of this," Fergus said, clearly trying to be reassuring.

"Do you _really_ think he'll lose?" Lyra asked sardonically from within her hands.

"...no." Fergus said.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Much love to my reviewers for the last two chapters (there's a lot of you...)! KnightOfHolyLight, Dreamhare, Jaden Anderson, Berserkians Fury, FenZev, The Original Frizzi, Yuki-sama12, Angelakane, MagicalMimi, and Whatcomestomind. Hope I didn't miss anyone. Thanks for taking a moment to let me know what you think. I love getting reactions to the story!_

_And hey, if you're one of the anonymous ones who's stuck around this long...you rock, my friend! Drop me a line, I'd love to hear from you. Criticism? Critique? Give it to me, baby...(uh-huh, uh-huh...) sorry. That was my 90's moment of the day. Plus, when I hear from you, usually I go check out your profile and then read YOUR stuff. It's all about sharin' the love. _

_I love Author's notes, because I can be totally stupid for a few lines and you as the reader can skip right past it if you want. That's why I put it at the end. :-D And now, off to clean the kitchen._


	59. A Perilous Errand

CHAPTER 57

Teagan and Alistair both reached for the potatoes at the same time, and they both began to apologize.

"I'm sorry, Uncle-"

"Whoops, go ahead-"

They grinned at each other, and Teagan gestured to Alistair, who began shoveling potatoes onto his own plate. Teagan's smile faded slightly, and he wondered if he should have gone first after all.

Lyra cleared her throat, and Alistair looked at her questioningly, and then a look of realization crossed his face and he stopped piling potatoes on his plate. He handed the spoon back to Teagan, who smiled wryly at Lyra. She grinned back, and scooped some of the potatoes off of Alistair's plate and onto her own.

"I'm starving too. Take more of everything, not just one thing," she muttered to him.

"But I _like _the potatoes," he muttered back.

"So does everyone else," she muttered, and stepped on his foot a little as she passed him the dish of baked greens. He made a slight face, and then began loading his plate, and plopped some onto hers for good measure.

"Chard. I hate chard. Not even any cheese on it," Alistair muttered, and Lyra stepped on his foot again and handed him the salt.

"Children," Wynne said with mock severity. "Stop tussling. Alistair, if you eat enough, I'll let you have cake for dessert."

"There's cake?" he said happily, and began eating enthusiastically. Leliana giggled at the other end of the table.

"Alistair would eat enough no matter _what_ it was," the bard laughed, and Fergus watched in fascination.

"Does the man do this at every meal?" he wondered aloud. He was met with nods all around the table.

"Usually Lyra does it, too, but she's got her company manners on this evening. I bet she raids the pantry later," Leliana said with a wicked smile, and Lyra rolled her eyes and gave up trying to be polite. She reached for an enormous piece of ham and began eating as energetically as Alistair, much to Leliana's delight. "It's a Grey Warden thing," Leliana said conspiratorially to Fergus, who smiled at the pretty bard.

"Lyra, Alistair," Teagan said. "We should talk about strategy. I've had a bird from Eamon - he'll arrive in about five days. I think we should hold a dinner when he gets here...we can meet all of the nobles, all at once, and formally present Alistair to everyone." Teagan observed Alistair, who was shoveling food into his mouth.

"Perhaps we'll feed him _before_ the dinner," Teagan said after a moment, and then continued.

"I have meetings set up with several people over the next few days...I'd like for you two to be present as much as possible. It will do nothing but good for Alistair to be there, appearing competant."

"Well, if you really think you can make me _appear_ competent," Alistair said with a grin.

"We have no good clothing, Teagan...we've been living in armor and undertunics for months," Lyra said. "We should see a clothier tomorrow. And we both could use haircuts, and there's an armorer I'd like to see about those dragon scales..."

"I'd prefer if the two of you didn't go tramping around in Denerim," Teagan said. "Loghain is still crying out for your blood, although I've managed to spread enough doubt about his actions that his raving isn't doing all that much damage anymore. In the morning, we'll send for a barber, and a tailor. Isolde has some clothing here, as does Eamon...you won't be left naked for the meetings, no matter what. Within a week, we can have new wardrobes for both of you."

Lyra nodded in understanding, disappointed that she wouldn't be able to go out into Denerim proper...she didn't relish the idea of being trapped like a rat for weeks in Eamon's estate, no matter how grand and open it was.

After dinner, Fergus asked Alistair to join him in the small parlor. Lyra began to go with them as well, and then caught the look on Fergus' face...This was obviously meant to be a private meeting. She followed Leliana to her room, instead, biting her nails.

Alistair trailed after Fergus quietly, prepared to be put through the ringer. Fergus shut the door quietly behind them, and drew a deep breath.

"Alistair...look. I don't want to make this difficult on either of us. But as my sister's brother, I have to ask." He gestured to a chair, and the two of them sat.

"What are your intentions by my sister?" Fergus said, and Alistair took a breath and drew the ring from his pocket and held it up.

"I want to marry her, Fergus. I love Lyra. She's...amazing," he said.

Fergus stood up and held out his hand, delighted.

"You have my blessing! Andraste's tits, let's have a wedding!" Fergus said enthusiastically, and Alistair grinned and stood to shake his hand. Fergus quickly pulled him in, and clapped Alistair heartily on the back.

"Just like that?" Alistair asked when Fergus released him. "You're not going to ask me if I drink, or have bad habits, or how I intend to provide for her?"

Fergus burst out laughing.

"Lyra would skin you alive if you did anything that she didn't like...and I know my sister. She's too smart and has too much self respect to take just anyone. As for how you intend to provide for her...you're going to be the king, you numbskull. I'm not worried about _that_." Fergus grinned, and Alistair smiled. It was true...Lyra wouldn't put up with shenanigans, unless they were of her own making and approval.

"I haven't asked her, though...there may be some complications with us getting married," Alistair said, and Fergus nodded as they sat down again.

"She was telling me. But I think it's best if you two _do_ get married. Politically, it's the best move...and Lyra would make an excellent queen. She's not empty-headed, like so many of them."

"I know...honestly, I don't think I can do it without her. I would've asked already, but the moment hasn't really come up...and Eamon asked me to wait. And actually, she was saying some things the other day that made me wonder if she even _wants_ to get married."

"Like what?" Fergus asked.

"Like how she always thought she'd have to marry for politics, and how she was glad that I didn't want her for those reasons." Alistair twirled the ring in his fingers, admiring the sparkle. "So I'm hesitant to ask."

"Did she actually _say_ she didn't want to get married?" Fergus asked, perplexed. "I mean, she's never been exactly as girly as some women, but I thought she liked the idea of settling down."

"No, she didn't say she didn't _want_ to...but she did say she liked things as they were," Alistair said, his brows furrowed. "I don't want her to think I'm trying to solidify my claim to the throne by proposing."

Fergus sat back and puffed out his cheeks.

"You could ask her after the Landsmeet. It won't matter, then."

"True..." Alistair said. "But then there's the issue of an heir."

"Offer to foster a ward. Plenty of nobles would be happy to give you one of their children, if it meant advancing their position," Fergus said. "You'll have no end of opportunities for succession. I know Eamon's concern, but really, I think it's better that we just keep the two of you together."

"Maybe the Landsmeet should vote on that, too," Alistair said with an uneasy smile. Fergus snorted.

"Every family with a daughter over the age of ten will be pushing you to take a different bride. Save yourself the headache. Marry my sister," Fergus said. Alistair nodded.

"I'll ask her after the Landsmeet, then," Alistair said, and tucked the ring back into his pocket.

Fergus smiled. "I'll be proud to call you brother, Alistair. But if you hurt her, I'll butcher you. Don't doubt it." Fergus' manner was easygoing, but Alistair didn't doubt that he meant what he said.

"Understood," Alistair said with a grin. "Don't worry. I couldn't hurt Lyra...it would literally kill me to do it. She'd probably come after me before you would, with her sword well sharpened."

Fergus roared with laughter.

* * *

><p>The next few days were a flurry of activity. Tailors, beauticians, and even a foppish armorer named Wade paid calls to the estate, taking measurements and selling goods, promising beautiful clothing and well-made shoes. Alistair and Lyra had more visitors than they knew what to do with. Messages flew between noble houses, and dozens of people came to meet with Alistair and see for themselves what Maric's son was made of. Lyra stood quietly by, giving her opinion and supporting him, she and Fergus making it known that Highever stood with Alistair.<p>

"Loghain must have some inkling of what's going on," Alistair said. "It's not possible for him to run this city and not know what his nobles are up to...is it?"

"It depends on how many loose lips there are," Teagan said. "I'd say he knows what's going on. It's vital that the two of you stay here...we cannot risk anything happening to you. Assassination is all too easy, and Loghain already sent _one_ Crow after you."

"Perhaps, but with the charm these two possess, even the Crows were not able to touch them," Zevran said.

"You mean we overcame you too easily," Lyra said dryly.

"That, as well, my flower," he grinned.

Eamon and Isolde arrived with their household, right on schedule, and the house became very lively in very short order. It was only a week until the Landsmeet, and Alistair and Lyra were kept constantly busy.

Leliana approached Lyra one evening, when six days remained before the Landsmeet.

"Allow me to go see Marjolaine," she said. "I know you and Alistair cannot come with me..."

Lyra bit her lip. As much as she wanted to, it just wasn't safe. She was dying to get out of the house, though...

"Of course, Leli. I wish we _could_ go with you. Who do you want to take?"

"Sten, and Morrigan, and Wynne...is that alright?"

"Of course. Not Zevran?" Lyra asked.

"No...I'll leave him here with you. One of us should be here at all times," Leliana said with a smile. "Eamon thinks he's doing well by keeping you on the estate, but there are so many holes in his security...it's like dipping up water with a sieve."

"So what you're saying is I'd be safer to come with you, wearing my armor, than being here, wearing this dress?" Lyra said, gesturing to the pale green gown she was wearing.

"That dress is lovely on you. You're lucky you and Isolde are so close in size."

"Yes, and it goes perfectly with my boots," Lyra said dryly, pulling up the skirt to reveal her heavy, armored footwear. "It'll be a few more days before my regular shoes are ready."

Leliana giggled. "I'd loan you the ones I bought in Orzammar, but they wouldn't fit. You _do_ have large feet."

"It's because I'm tall," Lyra said with a smirk. "I never cared, anyway. I _like _my boots. Anyhow, Leli - of course, go see Marjolaine. Are you sure you'll be alright? I don't want you dying on me."

"I'm not dying today...thank you, my friend," Leliana said, and hugged her.

* * *

><p>The four friends followed the missive to a non-descript door in a non-descript wall in a non-descript part of Denerim.<p>

Leliana knocked, tapping out a pattern on the door. After a moment, a hidden panel near eye level slid open. A pair of brown eyes peered through the hole in the door, and then the panel slid shut again. The door opened.

"Welcome...Leliana," the door guard said, and Leliana nodded cordially. The others followed her inside, and they were led to a back room.

A beautiful woman with shining dark hair was reclining gracefully on a couch. The room had been brightened as much as was possible...there were freshly cut flowers on a rough wooden table, and a fire crackled cheerfully in the grate. A flowered tablecloth was spread over another small table, and a plate of fruit and a silver pitcher sat on the top. But the room was still small, and dark, and the well-dressed woman seemed out of place in this drab setting.

"Leliana, my love!" the woman stood, her silken hair shining in the dim light. "But this cannot be you...hair ragged and messy like a boy, smelling of wet dog..." Her voice was satiny, and dripped with the exotic that was Orlais. In comparison, Leliana's accent was really hardly noticeable.

Leliana crossed her arms. "I am here, Marjolaine. What is it you want?"

"Can old friends not talk? I merely wished to see how you were. It has been years, my Leliana...look, I bring you a gift." Marjolaine gestured toward the corner, and Leliana's eyes widened to see the lovely recurve bow standing upright against the wall. She drifted toward it, tracing the graceful woodwork with the tips of her fingers...

"Do not call me _yours_, Marjolaine...you and I ended years ago. When you tried to have me killed," Leliana said, her voice clear and strong. She turned away from the bow. "Or have you forgotten?"

"Oh, then there is someone else in your life? Perhaps, the pretty Grey Warden?" Marjolaine purred, and rose to her feet. She circled the bard, who seemed to be made of stone.

"Or have you finally learned to love men as well as women, _my_ Leliana? Is this your lover, so handsome and strong?" Marjolaine reached a seductive hand to touch Sten's face. Sten caught her wrist, and leaned down to growl menacingly at Marjolaine.

From the open doorway, the sound of steel being drawn caught everyone's attention, and Marjolaine began to laugh.

"There is no need for violence," she said, and pulled her wrist from Sten's grasp. "We are just...talking."

"My time is limited, Marjolaine. Say your piece and let me go," Leliana said, a note of venom entering her voice. Marjolaine's syrupy facade faded, and her voice took on a business-like tone.

"You do not think I am fooled, do you? I have tracked you from the moment you left Orlais. The years you spent in the Chantry...now I admit, that puzzled me. What does she do, I wondered. Your plan was most devious."

"My plan?" Leliana said. "I had no plan. My only thought was to escape with my life!"

"Ah, yes, this is what you would say. Clever, Leliana. You always were. My star pupil, so grown up now," Marjolaine said, her eyes becoming cat-like and lazy.

"If you have nothing important to say, then we are leaving," Leliana said, and they turned to go.

"You have information about me, Leliana. Information that could kill us both," Marjolaine said, and Leliana paused, and turned back.

"That part of my life is over, Marjolaine. I have no interest in exposing you."

"So you say. But your actions speak differently. You have the ear of the future king of Ferelden..."

"The world does not revolve around you, as much as you may think differently," Leliana said coldly. "Alistair has better things to do than worry about one assassin from Orlais."

"Does he?" Marjolaine said delicately. "And what of Ferelden's long-standing enmity with Orlais? Will _you _not be seen as a spy and a troublemaker, seating yourself so close to Ferelden's throne?"_  
><em>

"Leliana has left that life behind," Wynne said. "You have nothing to fear from her."

Marjolaine brushed her shining hair back, and laughed. "You think I _fear_ her? I _made_ her. No, my darling, the reason I brought you here today was to give you a chance at your life."

"My life?" Leliana said, clearly taken aback.

"Yes, dearest. You see...Teyrn Loghain is growing desperate. When he found out that his contract on the Wardens' lives was not complete, he began to cast other nets. I'm afraid your Wardens...will not survive the night."

"_What?_" Leliana cried. She rushed toward the door, but it was slammed shut, and the bar dropped into place on the other side.

"Come with me, Leliana," Marjolaine said entreatingly. "If I had not called you here, you would have died with them. We belong together...you and I, we are the same. I was a fool to leave you...I have missed you terribly, beloved. Come back with me... Leave Ferelden behind."

Sten had pulled his sword, and looked as though he was on the verge of pouncing on Marjolaine and tearing her to shreds. Wynne's face was hard, and Morrigan's was inscrutable.

Leliana laid a calming hand on Sten's chest, and murmured, "It's alright. I will handle this..." He looked slightly mollified, and Leliana walked slowly forward. She slipped her arms around Marjolaine's shoulders, and embraced her. The dark-haired woman sighed, and laid her cheek alongside Leliana's.

"I knew you would choose rightly," Marjolaine whispered.

"Of course, my love...I know where my loyalties lie," Leliana murmured back, and then her dagger plunged into Marjolaine's stomach.

The dark-haired bard screamed betrayal, and fell to the floor, obscenities fowling her beautiful lips. There was a scrabbling noise at the door, and then it flew open. Four heavily armed men stormed into the room, swords held high.

Sten bellowed, and charged toward them. He ran the first one through, pulling his reddened blade out and stabbing viciously into the next one. Wynne sent a mage bolt zinging through the air to explode on the chest of another, and Morrigan cast a cone of cold, freezing two of the men solid. Another mage bolt toppled the remaining man, and then Sten's sword shattered the two ice statues into shards that glittered and rolled on the floor.

Leliana knelt beside Marjolaine, and the woman panted in pain.

"Why, Leliana?" she whispered, blood beginning to froth at her lips. "I loved you..."

"What are Loghain's plans?" Leliana asked, a hard edge to her voice.

"It matters not. You are too late. Their signal to move was seeing you arrive here in my home," Marjolaine said. "I beg you...end me. Do not leave me to die in pain."

Leliana drew her dagger across Marjolaine's throat, and then stood.

"Back to Eamon's," she said shortly, and Wynne and Sten followed Leliana quickly out of the house. Morrigan hesitated, and then went to the corner and picked up the bow. She slung it over her shoulder and hurried after them.

* * *

><p>"Your move," Lyra said. Alistair studied the game board, and Fergus sat back, his arms crossed, a frown on his face.<p>

"You'll never beat her, Alistair," Fergus said. "She's got a tactical mind."

"Maybe so...but...counter..._this!_" he said, and triumphantly moved a pawn._  
><em>

Lyra flicked his queen over with one finger, and Alistair groaned. "How did I not see that?"

The door flew open, and Zevran strode in.

"Wardens, come with me, quickly-" He was cut off by the sound of glass breaking, and then he dove toward Lyra, knocking her out of her chair. A muffled explosion, and the room filled with thick, choking smoke. Kestrel barked, and then began to cough and stagger, and collapsed. Alistair and Fergus went next, their eyes rolling as they toppled from their chairs to land in individual heaps on the floor.

Zevran pressed a handkerchief over Lyra's mouth, and she struggled and coughed. "What are you-" she said, and then her eyes rolled back into her head. Zevran's breath was beginning to run out, and he looked desperately at Alistair and Fergus, lying unconscious on the floor. He tried to pick Lyra up, but movement on the balcony sent him scurrying to a closet, desperate not to be taken along with them, and leave no one to initiate a rescue. He closed the door quickly and took another precious gulp of untainted air. Through decorative slats in the door, he was able to observe what happened next.

Shadowy figures swarmed over the balcony, and a low voice said, "Take the girl. Kill the others." The smoke was clearing quickly, and two men clad in dark clothing advanced on Fergus and Alistair.

Two swords slid into their bellies, and they made no sound as they were run-through. A third man picked up Lyra's still form, and within seconds they disappeared back over the balcony.

Zevran threw open the door and ran to the men. They were still unconscious and were beginning to bleed messily, and Zevran took off down the hall, shouting for aid. The room was filled a moment later, and Zevran wished mightily that Wynne had not gone with Leliana on her errand.

"What happened?" Eamon asked wildly as his physician began to clean Alistair and Fergus, doing everything in his power to save their lives before time ran out. Zevran began to babble an explanation, but then another sound caught his attention.

"Alistair! Lyra!" voices shouted from down the hall, and quickened footsteps pounded. Leliana came skidding into the room. "Oh no..." she said, and Wynne paled and pushed her way toward the men.

"Morrigan, my pack," she called, and the witch darted from the room. Wynne shoved the physician out of the way and knelt by Alistair's side, her eyes closed in concentration. A moment later, Alistair sat up, clutching his stomach with a moan. Fergus was tended to a moment later, and Zevran sagged with relief.

"Zevran, what happened?" Leliana asked, her face covered with worry. "Where is Lyra?"

"They took her," he said in a defeated voice. "We have to go after her."

* * *

><p><em>AN: The Original Frizzi, Jaden Anderson, FenZev, KnightOfHolyLight, Dreamhare, Berserkians Fury, DarkDevon13 and Angelakane...thanks for the reviews! Tons'a love. :-D _


	60. Kidnapped Part 1

CHAPTER 58

"No, no, absolutely not, Alistair!" Wynne said, and pushed him back onto the bed. "You _will_ sleep tonight, and if you don't I will knock you out myself and make certain you don't wake up again for eight hours."

"Wynne, I can't.." his eyes were frantic. "Lyra's been taken!"

"And Zevran and Leliana are taking care of it. Do you know how grievous an abdominal wound is?" Wynne said severely. She raised her staff threateningly. "I will use this."

Alistair shut his eyes and laid back down, huffing out a breath of frustration. "Maybe you _should_ put me out," he mumbled. "I'm just going to lay here and worry. And I'll probably try and sneak out."

Wynne sighed. "Alistair...I don't want to be the one to tell you this. But the fact is that Ferelden needs you. Lyra is needed, as well...but we can't lose both of you, and you've already been fatally wounded once tonight. How much punishment do you think your body can take?"

Alistair opened his eyes and looked accusingly at her. "You're right. You don't want to be the one telling me this."

Wynne got up, and looked at him warningly. "I'm sending a guard in to make certain you don't leave that bed. Alistair...if they wanted her dead, she'd have been left beside the two of you. She's got time. Zevran and Leliana will bring her back. Now, please...try and rest." She slipped out of the room quietly, and a burly guard stepped in and shut the door.

Alistair eyed him, wondering how badly he'd be hurt if he tried to jump him.

* * *

><p>"And then they <em>took<em> her?" Leliana said as she and Zevran jogged alongside each other.

Zevran nodded. "I felt awful...I didn't get to them in time. I have a theory, though, about why she was kidnapped instead of being killed."

"Tell me," Leliana said as they followed the trail across Denerim. She pointed to a scuff mark in the dirt, and Zevran nodded. They continued their trek as he spoke, and her eyes widened in understanding.

"You're right..." she breathed. "We'll have to confirm this. If you're right, and I think you are... we won't be able to do this on our own."

* * *

><p>A soft knock at the door woke Alistair out of his light doze. He <em>was<em> tired, no matter how much he didn't want to admit it. He came awake, and wiped a bit of drool from his mouth. The guard looked at him, and he nodded.

"Come," he called, and the guard opened the door.

A small, cloaked figure entered the room and shut the door. Alistair thought he could smell a flowery perfume, and the cloak was made of shining blue fabric. Delicate hands drew back the tassled hood to reveal a beautiful, cultured face with wide, blue-green eyes and honey blonde hair.

"Alistair...we haven't met. I'm Anora," she said in a clear, confident voice, and Alistair stuttered a little.

"Ah. Um...nice to meet you?" he said, wondering how in Ferelden she had gotten through the estate to end up in his room.

"Would you excuse us, please?" she said politely to the guard, who cleared his throat nervously.

"Sorry, Queen Anora...I'm supposed to make sure he doesn't leave," the guard said apologetically.

"Which I will happily do for you. Isn't there somewhere else you'd rather be? What could possibly happen while I'm with him?" Anora said reasonably, and pressed a coin into the guard's hand. He hesitated, and then handed the coin back.

"Sorry, I..."

"It's probably fine," Alistair said. "It's not like she could actually hurt me." He imagined that whatever Anora had to say, it would best be done in private.

Anora glared at him slightly, and turned back to the guard. "Suppose we compromise. Wait outside the door? You'll be able to hear if Alistair should need your assistance."

The guard looked at Alistair, and then back to Anora. He looked as if he might say something more, and then he quietly exited the room and shut the door behind him.

"Now. Alistair," Anora said, seating herself on the bed, rather too close for Alistair's comfort. "Let us speak as adults."

"Oooo...kay," Alistair said, bemused.

"I have ruled this nation on Cailan's behalf for many years. I am a great queen, and as beloved by my people as I love them," she said. "And although I am tired of ruling in my husband's name, it seems that I must continue to stand behind a man, as my sex prevents me from holding the throne on my own. I come with an offer."

"Oh. Um, an offer?" Alistair said, his mind racing ahead to what he assumed Anora must be speaking of.

"Marry me. Join forces. I will remain the queen, and Ferelden will be happy to see another Theirin on the throne. You cannot hope to rule alone, Alistair...you are not competent. How could you be? Cailan was hopeless, and he was _raised_ to it, as you were not." Alistair looked at her resentfully as she said this, and Anora either didn't notice or didn't deign to notice as she continued speaking.

"Your life will not be difficult...you will appear at publc gatherings, sign documents, and I will allow you to keep any number of women." Anora's voice was brisk and businesslike, and it threw Alistair for a loop to hear her so casually planning a life of passionless marriage to a person she'd met moments ago.

"Wait, what?" Alistair said."Um, Anora, look. This is, um, probably one of the more interesting things I've heard today, but I don't think I can do that."

"Why not? Because of your fellow Warden?" Anora said easily. "She's a non-issue."

"But...no. I'm sorry, Anora. I don't want to marry you."

Anora's eyes darkened, and she leaned forward.

"Reconsider, Alistair. My father will overturn you in the Landsmeet, and then you'll be executed." Her voice was a warning, but Alistair didn't hear the full meaning behind those words.

"What did you mean just now, that Lyra's a non-issue?" Alistair said as Anora's words began to sink in more fully. Anora smiled slightly, and leaned back again.

"She was taken away this evening, was she not?" Anora asked.

Alistair's eyes darkened, and he grabbed Anora's shoulders and shook her. "Where is she? You know what happened to her? Tell me!"

"Calm down, Alistair! Maker, Cailan didn't have a temper like that," she said irritably, shaking him off. "Agree to marry me, and I'll tell you where Lyra is."

"Over my dead body," Alistair said. Anora shrugged, and stood up.

"Very well. You are a bigger fool than I had imagined... It may even now be too late." She pulled her cowl back over her head, and Alistair shut his eyes, angry with himself. He stood up quickly.

"Anora!...please. Can't we work something else out?" Anora turned back to him, a triumphant look on her face.

"If you will not marry me, then withdraw your name from the Landsmeet. Do not contest me as queen." Her tone was cold and professional, and Alistair shuddered a little at the idea of marrying this frigid bitch. _Cailan must have been miserable_, he thought errantly.

"Fine. I'll...not contest you," he spat the words. "Now where is she?" He took a step toward Anora, who smiled.

"She's been taken to Arl Howe's estate. Howe intends to marry her to his son, Thomas, to legitimize his claim on Highever." Anora said, and then added, "Do not think to betray me, Alistair. Your word. You will not contest me."

"Well, now, Anora, I'm not certain about that," he said in a nasty tone. "It seems to me that a queen who would stoop to blackmail and betrayal to keep her throne...doesn't _deserve_ that throne."

Her eyes widened, and a murderous glare filled her eyes. She threw off her cloak and drew a dagger from her hip. Alistair tensed, prepared for her to rush him, but she surprised him by nicking the top of her dress and then ripping it savagely with the other hand, exposing her smallclothes. She sheathed the dagger again and began screaming, the sound echoing through the small room. Alistair was completely perplexed. _What in the name of..._

Within seconds the door was flung open, and the guard stormed into the room. His eyes widened at the sight of Anora, exposed to the waist, and Alistair standing nearby. His eyes narrowed, and he drew his sword.

"Ser Alistair, put your hands on the wall and don't move," he said, and Alistair began to protest.

"What are you talking about? I have no idea what's going on. She just started screaming-"

"Yes, women do that when they're about to be taken advantage of. Your hands, ser!" The guard gestured with his blade, and Alistair's mouth fell open. He put his hands on the wall and glared angrily at Anora, who was drawing her cloak about herself protectively and shooting Alistair a wounded glance.

"You..._bitch_!" he spat at her, and the guard shouted down the hall for backup.

* * *

><p>Leliana and Zevran crept along the path outside Howe's estate. The area was crawling with guards, and the only reason they hadn't been caught was their ability to practically crawl through a populated area and remain unnoticed.<p>

"I might be able to sneak in," Zevran whispered. "But I don't know if I would come out again, and certainly not with Lyra."

"We're not prepared to do this," Leliana agreed. "But we need to be sure she's actually here-"

"Looks good, Janson," a guard called, and Leliana and Zevran turned back toward the gate to see a tray being carried into the estate.

"Think the Warden likes cherry pie?" the chef said.

"Whatever," the guard said. "I don't give two shits about what some noble cunt likes or doesn't." The chef shrugged, and continued into the estate.

"Thomas is gonna have to feed it to her, tied up as she is," a second guards said with a grin. "I'd like to take a bite'a something like _her_, lemme tell ya."

"It'd be your balls if you did," a third guard said. "Howe's an ornery cuss."

"Well, if this works, we won't be losing men to the riots in Highever anymore," the first guard commented. "I dunno how they're gonna get her to say 'I do', though."

"Why wouldn't she?" the second guard said. "My sister's nuts for Thomas Howe. She swoons like a goose whenever he walks by."

"Sure, your slut of a sister does," the third guard said. "But _that's_ Lyra Cousland. I heard she's already engaged - to Alistair Theirin, Maric's bastard who's gonna challenge Queen Anora at the Landsmeet."

"I heard different," the second guard replied. "I heard that the bastard is gonna marry Anora instead, and keep the Cousland bitch on the side." The guard began to snigger at this, and the first guard cuffed him upside the head.

"Shut up. Get back to your patrol," he said. "And be ready to leave in the morning...as soon as the Revered Mother arrives to marry them, we're marching for Highever."

The guards grumbled. Leliana gave Zevran a look, and the two of them snuck back to the path.

"Let's rally the troops," Zevran said softly, and Leliana nodded.

* * *

><p>"Eamon, I didn't do anything, I swear!" Alistair shouted. "Anora came in here and she cut the top of her dress and ripped it herself, with her own hands, and then she started screaming and now everyone thinks <em>I'm<em> a damned rapist!"

Anora had been ushered to a fine, private room, where she was being "detained" for questioning about what had happened. Eamon was privately wishing he could keep her locked up there until after the Landsmeet, so her damning story could be contained.

"Alistair, stop yelling, for the Maker's sake," Eamon said. "What was she doing in your room? And why wasn't the guard in here with you?"

"I dunno how she got into the estate...she came and knocked on the door, and there she was. She asked if we could be alone, and I didn't think she'd attack me or anything, so I told the guard to leave. I figured, y'know...privacy among nobles, important discussions... I've really screwed up again, haven't I?" Alistair said, his voice breaking.

"It's not good, Alistair, that's for certain," Eamon said grimly. "I can't say how Anora came to be in the estate...I'm going to have to question the guards. We may have a spy in our midst." He groaned, and dropped down into the bed, burying his face in his hands.

"Every bit of good reputation we've built up for you over these last weeks...gone," Eamon mumbled. "_Damn_ the woman!"

"Eamon, Anora told me Lyra's in Arl Howe's estate," Alistair said urgently. "I should go-"

"Absolutely not," Eamon said. "You've caused more than enough trouble for one night."

"I didn't do anything!" Alistair yelled, a flush spreading over his cheeks. "I just let the bitch into my room, and all hell broke loose!"

"Anora is her father's daughter," Eamon said. "She's cunning. If she weren't so ruthless, I'd almost be tempted to marry the two of you."

"No way," Alistair said. "I'm marrying Lyra."

"Not unless she can give you an heir," Eamon said sternly. "I'm willing to wait and see what comes, for now, but I cannot condone a marriage yet."

"Eamon, respectfully, shove it up your ass," Alistair said bluntly. Eamon's jaw dropped, and Alistair went on. "There are more important things...and right now, I'm going to save the most important thing of all."

He strode toward the door, and opened it to find Leliana and Zevran standing just outside, about to enter the room.

"We found her," Leliana said. "She's at Arl Howe's estate."

"She's supposed to marry Thomas Howe in the morning," Zevran added.

"Yes, I know...Anora paid us a visit and gave us all the details. It's been super fun," Alistair said sarcastically. "Excuse me, please. I have to go kill an Arl." He pushed past them, and Leliana grabbed his arm.

"Alistair, wait. I have a better idea..." she said, and began to pull him back into the room, then turned to the assassin.

"Zev, get Morrigan, will you?" she asked, and Zevran took off down the hall.

Leliana outlined her plan to Eamon and Alistair. Eamon was hesitant, wanting to send troops, but Leliana pointed out that a few people could infiltrate the estate more easily than a contingent, and the political ramifications of sending troops against Arl Howe would be numerous. Alistair was enthusiastic...he insisted on accompanying them, and Leliana didn't have the heart to tell him no. Morrigan arrived a few moments later and she agreed with Leliana's idea, bringing a new element to the plan that made Leliana's eyes light up with fierce joy. Eamon agreed, slowly, and went to find the proper costumes they required. Alistair raided the kitchen, building up his strength again after his healing, and prayed that Wynne wouldn't find out he was going.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I purposely divided my very, very long chapter into two smaller sections, for those of you who can't do a really long sitting. Here's part 1. If you're signed up for alerts, no doubt you'll receive another alert in just a few moments when I post part 2._


	61. Kidnapped Part 2

CHAPTER 59

Lyra twisted her wrists violently, but the ropes were tied too tightly for her to contend with, and all she succeeded in doing was rubbing the first layer of skin off of her hands. She swore under her breath, and looked around.

She was in a bedroom - a nice one, by the looks of it, and she was stretched out on a large bed, leaning against several downy pillows. She'd awoken only a few moments earlier to find herself tied by the wrists and ankles, her upper legs secured tightly, and her arms bound down against her sides. She was trussed as neatly as a young pig, and she continued to fuss with her bonds, determined to do something to free herself.

The door opened, and she froze. Thomas Howe walked in, carrying a plate of...cherry pie?

"Ah, you're awake," Thomas said, a smile lighting his features. "You're looking lovely as always, Lyra."

"Thomas? What in Andraste's name am I doing here?" Lyra said, her eyes narrowing.

"Well..." Thomas sat down on the bed, close to her feet. "In the morning, you and I...are going to be married, my sweet one." He tapped the end of her nose gently, and she jerked away, a look of horror on her face.

"No, we're absolutely not," she said. "I wouldn't marry you if - if-"

"Last man in Ferelden? Well, you won't have a choice," Thomas said. "Not if you want to see your brother again."

"What have you done with Fergus?" she cried. "And..." she almost said "Alistair", but bit her tongue. It would do her no good if Thomas found out what her fellow Warden meant to her.

"You're not in a position to ask questions," Thomas said. He carefully sliced into the piece of pie he held with his fork, and offered the bite to her. She made a face, and he shrugged and popped the bite into his own mouth.

"In the morning, you and I will marry, and then we'll return to Highever. Once the locals see me bringing _you_ home as my bride, the rioting will stop. Ornery people you have in Highever...they don't seem to like the idea of us ruling there."

"Goodness, I wonder why," Lyra said sarcastically. "Your father killed my family...you've taken away everything I hold dear. You've lost what little sense you might have had if you think I'll marry you."

"You will, Lyra...or Fergus will die," Thomas said calmly. "And your fellow Warden...what's his name...oh, yes. Alistair. I'll take him apart in front of you...one...bloody...piece...at a time." He took another bite of pie, and wiped a bit of red from his chin. Lyra's stomach turned as she thought of Alistair being tortured.

"Really, this is delicious. Do you want some?" he asked, holding out the plate. Lyra drew herself back and spat in his face. Thomas shut his eyes in disgust, and then backhanded her across the cheek. Lyra's head spun to the side and she gasped in pain, her vision swimming.

"Don't...push me, Lyra," he said softly, and stood up to leave the room. Lyra's heart pounded with righteous anger, and she bit back a string of obscenities, feeling her cheek begin to swell. Her throat was closing up, and it was difficult to breathe through the red haze that covered her vision.

The door closed softly behind Thomas. He handed the plate to a servant who waited without. Rendon Howe smiled at his son, and clucked his tongue.

"Thomas...lying to your bride already? The Crows killed her brother and Alistair."

"She doesn't know that," Thomas said with a grin. "She'll find out soon enough...but for now, it makes an excellent incentive."

* * *

><p>The moon was high when two Chantry sisters and a robed monk came shuffling up to the door of Rendon Howe's estate.<p>

"State your business," the guard said, taking in the three robed figures.

"We have come to prepare the bride for her marriage in the morning," the first sister said, her voice light and high. "The Revered Mother sent us. There are chants that must be said, and special prayers to bless the newly married couple."

The guard looked at them, and then waved his hand.

"Go on in, then." He signaled, and the winch began to turn, opening the gate.

"A blessing on you, my son," Leliana's soft voice said, and they hurried into the estate.

"I can't believe that worked!" Alistair said exultantly. Leliana glared at him, and he shut his mouth.

"That looks promising," Morrigan said softly, gesturing to a hallway that seemed to be heavily guarded. Leliana led them over, and when questioned, they continued the facade that they were attending to the bride in preparation for her ceremony in the morning, and were waved past the guards. In seconds, they were at a door at the end of the hall, and Leliana pushed it open gently.

Lyra was lying on a bed in the room in her green gown, bound hand and foot...and arm, and leg. A colorful bruise decorated one cheek, and Alistair's heart leapt into his throat to think of how she must have gotten it. A kerchief was tied around her mouth, and her eyes narrowed when she saw the Chantry robes, and then widened in disbelief as Leliana drew her hood away.

Alistair rushed forward, pulling his hood down as well, and pulled the gag off of her mouth and kissed her desperately. She began to laugh breathlessly.

"You're here," she whispered.

"Of course I am," he whispered back, his relief at finding her alive overwhelming. "We're getting you out of here."

Morrigan removed her Chantry robe as Leliana deftly untied the knots that bound Lyra. Lyra rubbed her wrists gratefully, and once she was free, Leliana began to tie Morrigan up.

"Wait, what are we doing?" Lyra said, puzzled.

"Morrigan is staying here, in your place," Alistair said. "She'll cast a glamour on herself to make it look like you. It'll buy us time...three came in, three go out."

"But how will you get out, Morrigan?" Lyra asked, her brows creasing in worry.

"In the morning, I shall transform to a bird, and simply fly away," Morrigan said. "'Tis rather perfect, I think."

"You... can become a bird?" Lyra asked weakly. "Why didn't I know this?"

"You never asked," Morrigan said, and Alistair held the Chantry robe up to Lyra and helped her slip it on. He fastened the ties gently, and his fingers lingered by her face, looking at the bruise.

"Who did that to you?" Alistair asked softly.

"Thomas Howe," Lyra said quietly, without emotion.

Alistair nodded. "I'll kill him for that."

"Not if I kill him first," Lyra said with venom. Alistair leaned his forehead against hers and held her face gently in his hands. She brought her hands up to hold his, and he shut his eyes, and drew a breath.

"Lyra...I want to ask you-"

"Not now, Alistair," Leliana said urgently. "Fifteen minutes, please." She finished tying Morrigan, and helped the witch lay gently on the bed. Lyra and Alistair watched as Morrigan's appearance began to shift, and in a moment it seemed to Lyra that she was looking into a mirror.

"That's...creepy," Alistair said.

"Do you think so?" Lyra said. "I thought you liked the way I look." Alistair pinched her waist playfully.

"Ready, Morrigan?" Leliana asked, and Morrigan nodded. Leliana lifted the kerchief and tied it gently around Morrigan's head, gagging her mouth. She pulled a dagger from her hip and handed it to Lyra.

"You shouldn't be unarmed," she said, and Lyra nodded her thanks, the reassuring feel of steel in her fingers calming her down.

"Let's go," Leliana said, and the three of them pulled their hoods up and hurried from the room.

"Sisters...and, brother?" a voice said, and they turned to see Thomas Howe standing in the hallway. He stepped toward them, and Lyra's hand gripped the dagger tightly. She strode forward to meet him...blade first, through his abdomen. He gave a soft sound of surprise, and she gave the knife a lethal twist, damaging his body beyond all hope of repair.

Thomas's eyes widened stupidly, and he slid to the floor. Leliana sighed.

"Did you have to kill him right here, Lyra? Now it's messy," she said sadly, and Lyra drew her blade across Thomas' throat, ensuring a quick end to his life. Blood spattered the wall.

"No, now it's messy," she said grimly, and wiped her dagger on his shirt.

"Now for Rendon," she said softly, and hurried down the hall.

"Lyra, you can't do this. Not now," Alistair said, looking behind them at Thomas' body.

"Oh yes I can," she whispered back, and they followed helplessly past the guards and toward a door set in the wall. She drew it open, and they hurried down a curving set of stairs.

"Where are we going?" Alistair said softly.

"The dungeons," Lyra said. "Howe's office is down here. It's the first place I'm looking, because if I assume he's in the house we have a much better chance of being caught."

"Makes perfect sense," Alistair whispered, completely puzzled by her logic. "How do you know where his office is?"

"I've been here before. We used to visit, before he murdered my parents," she whispered back.

"Lyra, I think you're a little bit crazy sometimes."

"Shhh," she said, and peered around the corner at the bottom of the stairwell. "Come on," she whispered, and they darted after her past rows of cells.

"Sister-" a soft voice called, and Leliana paused. A man reached out an arm from within one of the cells. "Please. If you have any loyalty to Ferelden, free me. I am a Grey Warden, and I must-"

"Wait, what?" Alistair said, and slowed down. He backed up and peered into the cell. Leliana was already picking the lock.

"You're a Grey Warden?" Alistair said as the door opened. The man nodded.

"I am Riordan. Senior Grey Warden of Jader. And you..." his eyes widened, and he looked closely at Alistair's face. "Alistair? By the Maker, I could not ask for a better miracle!"

"Riordan?" Alistair said, his eyes filled with happy surprise. He turned to Leliana. "He was at my joining!"

"I was sent here to find out why we've heard nothing from the Ferelden Wardens for months. A group of us were sent to assist with the Blight, but we were turned away at the border... Duncan has not answered any messages."

"I can tell you everything, but let's get out of here first," Alistair said.

Riordan nodded, and then said "There is a passage through the dungeons. Follow me -" he began to move away, and Lyra cut him off, returning from her few feet of scouting ahead.

"Not yet. I have a score to settle with Howe."

"We should not tarry," Riordan said insistantly, but Lyra was already striding away. Alistair looked helplessly at Riordan, and hurried after her.

Lyra slowed as she came to a door, and knocked softly. A voice called from within, and she pushed open the door.

Rendon Howe sat at his desk, and rose as Lyra entered, her features hidden by the Chantry robe.

"Sister...or is it Mother? Have you arrived early, to perform the ceremony?" His eyes narrowed, and he stepped around the desk.

"I come with a message," Lyra said softly, and Howe's face relaxed.

"Very well. What is it?" he said.

Lyra gripped the dagger within the folds of her sleeves. She stretched out one hand, and laid it on Howe's forehead, as if in blessing.

"The Couslands send their regards," she said quietly, and thrust the dagger upward, sliding it through his ribs to touch his withered husk of a heart.

Howe gasped, and then his eyes went blank, the life draining out of them and making him seem like nothing more than an oversized doll. She pushed him away, turning as his body fell, and Alistair's arms pulled her close. He held her tightly, and she began to shake, overcome by the gravity of what she had just done. Her heart was cold, and an idle part of her wondered...shouldn't she feel fulfilled, now that Howe was dead? Shouldn't she be happy, now that her parents' deaths had finally been avenged? Shouldn't she feel...something?

It had been too easy.

Riordan appeared at the door and sucked in a breath of surprise. He glanced around the room, and then took a bundle of papers off the desk.

"Please, we must hurry," Riordan's voice called, and she followed Alistair out of the office and down the passageway that Riordan led them to, moving as if she was in a dream. None of this seemed quite real.

The passage stretched under the city for a few miles, and came up just outside of Denerim.

"Convenient..." Leliana said. "I wonder how many of the nobles have such exits.

"Most of them," Lyra said, her voice trembling with exhaustion. "My family had one." She wiped a stray tear from her bruised cheek, wincing slightly.

Conversation was kept to a minimum as they made their way back into the city and then to Eamon's estate. Eamon was pacing the floor and looked as though he'd aged ten years, and a look of relief lit his features when they came stumbling through the door. He welcomed them back gladly, hugging both Alistair and Lyra close, thanking the Maker for their safe return, and then imploring them to find their beds and rest. Leliana took over, introducing Riordan to Eamon and arranging for him to stay in the estate as Alistair and Lyra headed to their room. Alistair shut the door softly behind them, and pulled off the Chantry robe. Lyra removed hers as well, and went to the washbasin to splash cold water on her face.

Alistair's arms circled her waist, and he kissed her neck. She leaned back into him, her eyes drifting closed, taking simple comfort in his nearness.

"I was so afraid," he murmured.

"Thomas told me he was going to kill you...torture you," she murmured back, and turned around to hold him closely. She sniffled. He sighed into her hair, and then ended the embrace, pulling back slightly and reaching into his pocket.

"Lyra..." Alistair said, and took her left hand in his. She looked down, and her eyes widened in surprise as he slid a silver ring, shaped like a rose and sparkling in the dim light, onto her fourth finger.

"Marry me," he breathed, and her breath caught in her throat. The ring...was _gorgeous_. She looked up at him, tears filling her eyes, and he rushed to speak.

"I can't be without you. The idea of you marrying someone else - against your will or not - I don't care what Eamon says. I don't care what Ferelden wants, what the kingdom needs. I don't care what happens at the Landsmeet. I don't want anyone else but you, and I want you forever. Lyra, will you be my wife?" His heart was in his eyes...as if he was afraid there was a chance she might actually say no.

She began to laugh, and found that her voice had disappeared. She nodded, laughing and crying.

"Yes," she managed, and her arms went around his neck to grip him tightly. Alistair's arms went around her waist, and he lifted her up and spun her around, laughing breathlessly. Their lips met, and his face was nearly as wet as her own, happy tears giving release to the pressures of the last few hours.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Well, it turned out a little differently than what I'd been planning in my head for weeks and weeks...but our Wardens are finally engaged. :-D I hope it was worth the wait! I stayed up til 4AM writing these two chappies._

_Super special thanks to The Original Frizzi, Berserkians Fury, Lillowyn, Yuki-sama12, FenZev, Dreamhare, KnightOfHolyLight, Elissa Shepard, Angelakane, and lobowolf for sending their reviews! And thanks to those who have subscribed and signed up for alerts. I love, love, love you, my audience!_

_Hey, Yuki-sama12...your review worries me. What ending are you referring to? Please tell me, because the ending I have in mind is pretty awesome (I think) and I want to be sure it doesn't snark you (or others) off! _

_If you're into fanart, check out a piece that I found on . It's titled "Maristair 2" by *yuhime, and it's the relieved embrace I picture Lyra and Alistair in right before he pops the question. Incidentally, if you're on deviant art, my profile name is ~eve-hawk, and I'm not an artist, but I think you can view all my fave pieces if you look up my profile. There are some amazing, amazing things on that site, and most of what I've picked out is complementary to my characters and my story. Either that, or it's just super well done and amazingly cool._

_Also incidentally, if you are an artist, and should *happen* to feel like drawing something on commission for this novel...hey, who am I to refuse? Just sayin'. ;-D _

_It's Sunday morning for me, so I will say "Happy Sunday!" and hope that wherever you are in the world, you've enjoyed your weekend, or will continue to. See you in the funny papers. :-)_


	62. A Real Family

CHAPTER 60

"And that's all that happened," Lyra said. They were sitting at breakfast the following morning in Eamon's private dining room, everyone assembled but Morrigan and Oghren. Riordan was also missing...he was still fast asleep after an enormous dinner and a bout with Wynne's healing magic, recovering from wounds that hadn't really healed properly.

"You left out one important detail, my flower..." Zevran said slyly. "There is a distinct sparkle on your left hand. Care to explain?"

Lyra blushed, and set down her juice cup, the silver ring glittering prominently on her fourth finger. Leliana squealed, and grabbed her hand and held it up to be displayed to everyone. Lyra lowered her face, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment, a happy smile playing over her lips.

"You're engaged!" Leliana bubbled happily, and threw her arms around Lyra, and then rose to do the same to Alistair, who was grinning like a fool. Fergus clapped Alistair on the back from his seat beside him.

Eamon sighed, but smiled resignedly. "You do bring out the best in him, my dear. My congratulations." Lyra smiled gratefully at Eamon. Teagan's eyes were mirthful as he smiled at the young couple.

Isolde leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. "Allow me to plan your wedding, Lyra. This is an event that all of Ferelden will appreciate!"

"Does it have to be big?" Lyra asked, feeling slightly helpless. "I'd really prefer something...smallish..."

"Says the future queen of Ferelden," Alistair snorted. "Lyra, _you're_ the one who's made me realize this...we're trick ponies on parade. We have to give the public a show. Enjoy it...you're only getting married once."

"I'll hold you to that," she said, and wound her fingers through his, the ring on her finger feeling strange, but right. Eamon smiled, a rare indulgent look on his face, and then he returned to business.

"So Rendon Howe is dead," Eamon said. "I can't say that I'm surprised, although the Chantry won't be happy to be implicated. I advise that we stay as far away from the entire thing as possible."

"What about Anora, Eamon?" Alistair asked. Lyra turned to him.

"What about her?" she asked, and Alistair shifted uncomfortably. Oghren came into the room then, rubbing his eyes and yawning.

"Where's Morrigan? Someone musta put somethin' in my ale, and if anyone could knock out a dwarf, it's her. Stone's mercy, but I slept like a rock," he said, and then looked around.

"So, I miss anything important?" he said.

* * *

><p>"She did <em>what<em>?" Lyra squawked. "I'll kill her. I'll march into the palace and...and _gut_ her!" Lyra seethed through clenched teeth. Alistair clasped her hand, hoping she wasn't serious.

"Lyra, your temper is distinctly out of control," Eamon said calmly. "Please, my dear. There will be trouble enough without you murdering _more_ people."

Lyra sat back in her chair, pressing her lips into a thin white line, and Alistair rubbed her hand gently.

"She'll get what's coming to her," he said. "We need to expose her somehow...let Ferelden know what she's planning."

"How?" Lyra asked. "No witnesses...It's her word against yours."

"So let's make Alistair's word the worthier one," Zevran said, and Eamon nodded slowly.

"This will already be common gossip among the nobles...perhaps we can capture the public's imagination. Alistair, Lyra, how would you feel about a trip through Denerim, handing out coins and kissing babies?" Eamon said. "Leliana, perhaps you can write out some stories and...circulate them? Possibly even set to music?" Leliana nodded, her eyes dancing.

"I've been composing a ballad in my head all morning, after seeing that ring on her finger," Leliana said, and excused herself.

"Don't forget about the Urn of Sacred Ashes," Alistair called after her.

"And the dragon!" Lyra added. "That ought to be good for some public approval," she murmured, and Fergus nodded in agreement.

"I shall tell everyone of the way you recovered my sword," Sten said. Wynne nodded.

"And the way you saved the Mages in the tower," she said. Lyra smiled gratefully at them.

"In Orzammar, we have criers," Oghren said. "Might be no bad thing, a few dwarves strollin' around the markets, shouting about how King Endrin's allied with Alistair and Lyra."

"Do not forget the Dalish," Zevran said. "Although the Alienage is not politically powerful, it never hurts to get everyone on your side. Perhaps a trip there, as well?" Alistair nodded, his brows creased in concentration. It would be good to see exactly what Alienage conditions were.

Eamon leaned forward, his eyes bright with determination. "The truth is on our side. We'll win this thing yet," he said fiercely.

A scrabbling at the window caught Lyra's attention, and she looked over to see a raven fluttering it's wings against the glass. She hurried over and opened the window, allowing the bird to fly into the room. It landed on the floor and shimmered, becoming Morrigan. Teagan dropped his mug, Eamon nearly fell out of his chair, and Isolde gave a shriek of fright.

Alistair shrugged helplessly at the table, muttering, "She's a shapeshifter. Who knew, right?"

"You're back!" Lyra said happily, and hugged the witch tightly. "Thank the Maker. I thought you would come back last night..."

"Twas too amusing. I could not leave, not when the household was in such an uproar," Morrigan said with a smirk. "Did you intend to kill those two, or was that improvisation?"

"I was sort of making it up as I went," Lyra admitted.

"Well, once I deduced exactly what had happened, I saw no reason to continue the charade, as the two men who wished you kidnapped were deceased. I shifted to my raven form to observe more closely. Loghain arrived at Howe's estate this morning, and he was foaming at the mouth. You might be interested to learn that he was behind the entire thing...he and Howe cooked up your kidnapping, and the Crow's murder of Alistair and Fergus. Thus, removing you and Fergus from the influence of succession and Alistair from the throne. 'Twas a neat ploy...I was most impressed," Morrigan said.

"Yes, impressive," Alistair said, a twist in his lip. "Fortunately, we're way too awesome for it to have succeeded."

"We are ridiculously awesome," Zevran agreed, his face completely serious.

"And what of Marjolaine? Did you hear anything about her?" Wynne asked. "I confess, I am most curious about that. It seems entirely out of character to me that Loghain might have made a deal with someone from Orlais."

"There was no mention of Marjolaine, only of the Crows," Morrigan said. "Perhaps Loghain did not actually deal with her at all?"

"Perhaps," Wynne said, her brow furrowing. "I suppose we'll never know."

Eamon stood. "If we're all finished, we should dress and prepare for our outing," he said. "All of you - as fancy as possible, but still humble looking, if you can manage it. Alistair, wear the tabard with the Theirin crest on it that we had made...Fergus-"

"I'll wear the tabard of the Couslands, Eamon," Fergus said. "Nothing like solidarity."

"What about me, Eamon?" Lyra said. He smiled at her.

"Have Isolde help you dress...she'll know what's best. Flash that ring around," he said. "Make it clear that Alistair proposed to _you_, and perhaps we can squash the idea that he might have wanted Anora. You are the symbol of the greatest support Alistair has right now, my dear. Let all of Denerim know that you've chosen him, and that he's chosen you, as well."

* * *

><p>And so, Lyra and Alistair spent the day walking around Denerim, greeting people, buying trinkets from shops and giving out handfuls of coin. Alistair and Fergus played delightedly with a group of children in the Chantry courtyard, and Lyra watched in amusement, a half smile grazing her face as she thought of the future, and the possibility of an adopted heir. <em>Perhaps Fergus will marry again, and one of his children can be fostered with us...<em> she thought.

As they moved through the city, Leliana and the others talked with everyone they met, spreading the news of the upcoming wedding and the story of the Wardens' romance. Leliana told the story over and over, not sparing details...she told shopkeeps, food vendors, young mothers who were corralling children. She told the story to a group of noblewomen over lunch in the Gnawed Noble tavern about how Lyra and Alistair had met, and how their love had grown over the months they spent traveling Ferelden. She told people about the way Anora had cornered Alistair, desperate to make a deal to keep the throne that was no longer rightfully hers. Wynne sat in the Gnawed Noble tavern, quietly speaking about the help the Wardens had given to the Mages, and Sten told his story in somber tones, looking threatening and impressive. Tongues began to wag all over Denerim, the romance growing with every telling. Women whispered in delight as Alistair and Lyra passed by, her arm tucked gently into the crook of his elbow, Fergus walking beside them. They were the perfect picture of what a young king and queen should be, and Denerim fell in love.

The afternoon was waning when they made their way toward the Alienage. Fergus excused himself, wanting to head back to Eamon's estate. Lyra suggested someone go with him, but he laughed her off, saying it was all of three minutes away and he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Lyra insisted, and Fergus sighed and tagged a passing guardsman, offering him a coin to escort him home. Lyra watched the pair walk off, feeling better that Fergus wouldn't be unaccompanied.

This part of town was rather deserted, and Zevran strolled beside them, a happy smile on his face.

"You see, my friends...it is all in the story," he said, and Lyra was about to answer him when a man stepped out of the shade of a doorway.

A derisive laugh bubbled from his lips. "Ah...the mighty Grey Wardens, at long last. The Crows send their greetings, once again. Zevran...how nice to see you."

Zevran's face darkened, and he swallowed, a brief look of fear disappearing as quickly as it had come.

"Taliesin," Zevran said cordially. "Tell me. Were you sent, or did you volunteer for the job?"

"I volunteered, of course! When I heard that the great Zevran had gone rogue, I simply had to see it for myself." Taliesin crossed his arms, taking on a cocky stance.

"Is that so." Zevran said softly. He made a slight bow, never taking his eyes off of the other. "Well, here I am, in the flesh."

"You can return with me, Zevan. I know why you did this, and I don't blame you. It's not too late...come back, and we'll make up a story. Anyone can make a mistake."

"Of course, Alistair and I would need to be dead," Lyra said, her voice darkening.

Zevran smiled reassuringly at her. "And that's not likely to happen, my flower," he said. "I do not turn on my friends." He looked back at Taliesin.

"You're going to lose, Taliesin...You're going to lose badly. You should have stayed in Antiva." His voice was easygoing, but Lyra distinctly heard the threat that hovered beneath the words.

Taliesin laughed. "You've gone soft in the head, Zevran. The Crows will make you _pray_ for death."

"Perhaps they will, at that...but I'll take what time I have. You have a choice, Taliesin. All of you do," he said louder, and Lyra glanced around nervously. How many were there that she couldn't see?

"Traitor," Taliesin snarled.

"That coming from you is almost funny," Zevran said. "You made certain that there was nothing left for me in Antiva. Who betrayed who, I wonder?"

Taliesin drew his blade, and seven men rippled into view, appearing from unlikely places. Leliana and Sten drew their blades, and Morrigan whipped her staff off of her back, a ball of lightning twirling itself into existence above her cupped hand. Wynne drew her staff as well, and Oghren pulled his battle axe off of his back with an eager grunt. Kestrel growled menacingly.

"Not many escape the Crows _twice_," Taliesin said. "It won't happen a third time."

Alistair pulled his sword from it's sheath on his back, and Lyra slid her dagger from a slit in her dress where it was strapped to her hip. Her eyes darted frantically from man to man, and she wished to the Maker she was wearing her armor instead of an embroidered ankle-length blue dress, with lacy sleeves. At least she still had her sturdy boots on. She backed herself against Alistair, moving into a battle-crouch, and murmured, "I'll watch your back, you watch mine?"

"Done," he murmured back. He wasn't armored, either, but wore a white silk shirt, a gold and red vest, and light brown pants. His worn boots were the oddity of his posh outfit, as well - the shoemaker simply hadn't come through yet.

"Last chance, Zevran," Taliesin called, and Zevran shook his head slightly.

"My home is here," he said. "And no one touches these Wardens."

With a savage yell, the assassins advanced, and everyone sprung into action.

"Stay close...just defend," Lyra murmured, and Alistair nodded tensely. They were both entirely aware of how vulnerable they were in their light, frivolous clothing. Alistair didn't even have his shield... and there was no reason that their skilled companions shouldn't be able to handle such a small group with relative ease.

Morrigan discharged her ball of lightning, and it jumped between three men, bringing them to their knees. Sten rushed forward, and took off two of their heads with a mighty swing. Morrigan took down the third assassin with another charge of lightning as Sten moved off toward another opponent.

Zevran darted at Taliesin, and the two of them began a deadly dance of flashing daggers and martial arts, moving blindingly fast...Lyra remembered the first time Zevran had fought Alistair, and she tried to remember if he had fought as well on that occasion.

Leliana gave her ululating battle cry, and flipped her body toward one of the assassins, slashing with her daggers and parrying his quick thrusts. Kestrel launched himself at another assassin, catching hold of his pant legs and tripping him up, and then leapt on top of him and began mangling his face and throat. A messy spray of blood let Lyra know that Kestrel had dispatched his opponent in his favorite way...by ripping his throat out.

Oghren charged at another, swinging his axe mightily and nearly over-balancing himself as the lighter, faster assassin jumped nimbly out of the way of his swinging blade.

"Hold still, ya fruity bastard!" Oghren shouted.

Lyra drew a fearful breath...these were highly trained fighters, and she edged back and forth on her toes, feeling Alistair shift his stance in response behind her, and then he lashed out with his sword as the final assassin engaged him. Lyra resisted the urge to turn and help him, gripping her dagger tightly and watching what was going on around her.

Wynne shot bolt after bolt, and Alistair thought it might just be the mages who tipped the battle in their favor with their special ranged attacks...these assassins couldn't shoot fire or electricity from their blades. Sten had rushed to Alistair's side, engaging the last assassin, and with a final swing of his greatsword he slashed through armor and flesh, disemboweling the man and leaving a mighty mess on the cobblestones.

Oghren continued to struggle against his opponent, who seemed more interested in making a fool of the dwarf than facing him in fair combat, and Sten made a quick end of him as the man taunted Oghren. Leliana cried out, and Lyra saw her friend take a stab wound in the arm. Wynne whipped her staff in Leliana's direction and sent a blast of fire hurtling at her adversary, making him howl with pain. Leliana used the moment to plunge her blades into her enemy's chest, using her body weight to knock him down.

Zevran ducked a flashing blade, and then in a move quicker than Lyra could believe, he brought the hilt of his dagger into Taliesin's nose, knocking him backward. In another moment he had disarmed the man, and Taliesin clutched his face, his eyes widening a moment later as he realized he was the only one of his men left standing.

"You see, Taliesin..." Zevran said, pointing his dagger at Taliesin. "These Wardens are not the easy marks we were led to believe."

"You'll never be free," Taliesin sneered. "Not until you're dead. The Crows will keep coming after you..."

"I think not, my friend. They will assume I died with you. Of course, you'll have to be dead, first. Be free, Taliesin." He drove one dagger upward into Taliesin's ribcage, and the assassin crumpled when he pulled his blade free. Zevran knelt, coolly businesslike, and rifled though Taliesin's clothing, coming up with a few rolls of vellum. He tucked them into his shirt, and stood up.

"Perhaps we should save our trip to the Alienage for tomorrow, my friends," Zevran said, and Alistair and Lyra agreed. The party headed back to Eamon's estate, and Lyra glanced nervously behind her the entire way home.

* * *

><p>"Zev...who was he? Taliesin, I mean?" Lyra asked. It was a few hours later, following their return home and after dinner. The four of them were seated in Alistair and Lyra's room in front of the fireplace, wearing soft comfortable clothing in preparation for bed. Lyra sat on the floor in front of Alistair, her back leaning against him. He held her gently in his arms, his head leaned against hers, which rested easily on his shoulder. Kestrel was stretched in front of the fireplace, the picture of a pampered war dog. Leliana was cross-legged on the floor nearby, tuning her lute, a mug of hot cider on the floor in front of her. Lyra cupped her own mug of cider as well, and offered it periodically to Alistair for sharing.<p>

Zevran shifted himself into a better position, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back on his hands.

"Taliesin was my partner. He...was with me, on my last mission. It did not end well." He picked at an invisible piece of lint on his pants and then picked up his mug of cider, bringing it to his lips.

"What happened?" Leliana asked, looking up from her instrument. Zevran took a sip from his mug, and smiled at the bard.

"So curious. It is one of your many charms, sweet Leliana."

"Are we not friends, Zevran?" Leliana argued. "You let go of your past today. Can you not share it with us, the ones who love you best?'

Zevran looked at her in surprise, and then gave a short laugh. "You...make an interesting point." He looked down into his mug, and swirled it gently. After a moment, he looked up, and around at the three of them.

"Yes... I suppose it is time. You have been friends to me...perhaps the first true friends I have had in my life. There is no reason to be silent." He took another sip from his mug and then set it down.

"There is a reason I accepted this mission in Ferelden, far away from home, and it had nothing to do with any thought that I might leave the Crows. Meeting all of you, after all, was quite an accident. My last mission before this one...did not end well."

"Technically speaking, your current mission - us - didn't really end well, either. Unless you consider us _not_ killing you and you getting to tag along on quest after quest leading you into almost certain death...a success," Alistair said with a grin, and Zevran chuckled.

"When you put it that way..." he trailed off. "You must realize that until that day, I was cocky and arrogant. I was the best Crow in Antiva, I believed, and I bragged of my conquests often, both as an assassin and lover."

"And how has _that_ changed?" Lyra said with a grin. Zevran threw back his head and laughed.

"My flower...if you were not engaged to the handsomest Warden in all of Ferelden-"

"Also the _only_ Warden in all of Ferelden, but notice how he doesn't mention that," Alistair muttered.

"-I would have done much to make sure you knew just how delicious you really are," he said with a lecherous grin, and Lyra looked for something to throw at him. He chuckled, and continued.

"I... was often told that I was insufferable...right before I ended up in bed with someone. Such is how it was." His tone was light, but Leliana reached over and took Zevran's hand in a clear gesture of support, and he smiled slightly at her.

"One of the Crow masters grew tired of my boasting. My bid for an incredibly difficult mark was accepted, much to my surprise. A wealthy merchant with many guards. Taliesin agreed to be part of my team, as well as an elven lass named... Rinna." Zevran's voice grew soft with the memory, and for the first time, Lyra heard pain in his voice.

"She was...a marvel. Tough, smooth...wicked. Eyes that gleamed like justice. Everything I thought I desired."

"And you fell in love," Leliana said softly. She scooted closer to Zevran and laid her head on his shoulder, putting her arms around him. He sighed, and put an arm around her as well, cradling her close.

"Rinna was special. I had closed off my heart, I thought, but she touched something within me. It...frightened me."

Lyra nodded, remembering the way she had felt at the very beginning of her relationship with Alistair. His warm, accepting beacon of love had drawn her as a moth to a flame, but she had been terrified of burning up in that fire, being consumed until there was nothing left of her but ash.

"Then Taliesin revealed to me that Rinna had accepted a bribe from the merchant and told him of our plan. I readily agreed that she needed to pay the price, and allowed Taliesin to... kill her."

Lyra sucked in a quick breath of surprise, and Alistair's arms tightened around her. Zevran's face was so sad...but his voice was even, and she doubted very much if he would appreciate sympathy of any kind.

"Rinna begged me not to...on her knees...with tears in her eyes. She told me that she loved me, and had not betrayed us. I laughed in her face, and said that even if it were true, I did not care."

"But _that_ wasn't true," Leliana said softly, her face leaned on Zevran's shoulder.

"I convinced myself that it was," Zevran said softly.

"Taliesin cut her throat, and I watched her bleed as she stared up at me. I...spat on her, for betraying the Crows. When Taliesin and I finally assassinated the merchant, we found the true source of his information. Rinna...had not betrayed us, after all. I wanted to tell the Crows what we had done, our mistake. Taliesin convinced me not to. He said it would be a foolish waste. So we reported that Rinna had died in the attempt. We needn't have bothered. The Crows knew what we had done. The master who disliked me told me so to my face. He said the Crows knew, and didnt care. And one day, my turn would come."

"Why would he do that?" Lyra asked, her voice shocked. She couldn't help it. Zevran laughed derisively.

"To rub it in my face, perhaps. Not everyone is as kind hearted as you and Leliana, my flower. He wanted me to know that I was nothing...that _she_ was nothing."

Zevran released Leliana gently, and pulled himself into a cross legged position. He looked at Lyra, a serious look on his face.

"You once asked me why I wanted to leave the Crows. In truth...what I wanted was to die. What better way than to throw myself at one of the fabled Grey Wardens?"

"And then...this happened," Lyra said. Zevran nodded.

"I met you. And for some reason, this red-headed goddess stopped Alistair from slitting my throat. So... here I am."

The room was silent for a moment, the fire snapping loudly. Lyra leaned forward a little, a concerned look on her face.

"Do you still want to die?" she asked.

"No," Zevran said. "What I want is to begin again. Whatever it is I sought by leaving Antiva...I think I have found it. I owe you a great deal."

"No more than we owe you, Zevran...you've helped us at every step," Lyra said, and Alistair nodded. "We're glad to have you with us."

"As I am glad to be here, _bella flor_." Zevran stood, and took Lyra's hand, kissing it. "Whatever comes, know that I am with you. I will follow you until you have no more need of me." He bowed slightly, and took his leave.

Leliana stood and stretched, her lute in her hand. "I'm going to bed, as well." Lyra stood, and Leliana kissed her cheek, and then embraced Alistair briefly before closing the door softly behind her.

Lyra gathered up the cider cups and set them on the table, and Alistair pulled down the blankets. They climbed under the covers and snuggled close, and Alistair fingered the ring on Lyra's hand. The firelight was slowly dying, but the diamond sparkled all the same.

"Do you like it?" he said.

"I love it. It's absolutely perfect," she said, and Alistair smiled.

"We're going to be a family..." he murmured happily. "I've always wanted a large family."

"Maybe I'm just feeling overly sentimental... but we already have one, you know," Lyra said thoughtfully. "All of us. It sounds cheesy...but think about it. Is there anything you wouldn't do for anyone in our group?"

"No...there isn't," Alistair said. "Even Oghren. And I think they feel the same way."

"All of us have come into this looking for a family..." Lyra realized. "All of us have lost people, and all of us have had voids in our hearts that needed to be filled. We've collected a rather strange mix, haven't we...But it works, somehow."

Kestrel jumped up on the bed, and Lyra shoved at him, trying to push his heavy body off before he could get settled. He flopped on her feet, and she swore as Alistair laughed and pulled her close. She worked her feet around the dog, having to tangle up with his legs in order to have enough room.

"You'll just have to sleep closer to me. Kestrel's part of the family too, y'know," Alistair said as she got herself arranged.

"I know," she said, and settled herself into the curve of Alistair's arms.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Yeah, so call me a sap. That last part probably made your teeth ache. Oh well. Go brush 'em and move on. ;-)_

_Thanks everyone for the reviews and messages. It's getting difficult to name all of you here...my word count is upping significantly by the length of my notes! _

_If you're in the mood for some pure fun - check out the story titled "Prank War", by The Original Frizzi. She suggested the idea to me about Fergus and Lyra having some fun pranking each other, and the next thing I knew we were collaborating on a one-shot that fits into this story. "Prank War" takes place about 3 days before the Landsmeet, (which means technically, it hasn't occurred yet) and features her awesome OC/AU character Kit, who stars in her well-written story "The Choices We Make." _

_The placement of "Prank War" will come in during the next chapter, I believe...I'm sure I'll talk about it in yet another longish A/N. _

_Lots of love! :-D_


	63. Duncan's Shield

CHAPTER 61

Zevran was laying his shirt over the back of a chair to keep it from wrinkling when he heard a soft tap at his door. He opened it to find Leliana on the other side. She grinned at him.

"Zevran...so shameless. No shirt?" she said with a grin, and stepped through the door to seat herself on his bed. He shut the door softly and reached for his shirt, intent on pulling it back on over his head.

"What are you doing?" Leliana asked.

"Being polite. I do not wish you to be uncomfortable, my dear," he said smoothly, and Leliana scoffed.

"As if the sight of your hairless chest could bother me in any way. Be comfortable. I am invading your space." She fluffed up his pillow and settled herself back against the wall. Zevran set his shirt down again and pulled a chair around to straddle it, leaning his arms on the back.

"What brings you here at this time of night, my firebird?" he said, and Leliana shrugged.

"I am not tired. Are you?"

He chuckled. "No, not really."

"So...let's talk," she said with a grin. "Tell me your life story."

Zevran laughed. "You've heard it. I was a Crow, and now I am here, following the Wardens. What more is there to tell?"

"None of the bluster and arrogance? Zevran, what has happened to you?" Leliana feigned shock.

"You are too smart, Leliana. You would only see through me," Zevran said with a grin. "I see through you, as well, you know."

Leliana rolled her eyes. "There is nothing to see."

"Ah. No regrets about Marjolaine, then? No sad feelings, no wishes things had been different?"

Leliana traced her finger on the bedspread. "You would not be interested." Her tone was light, but Zevran wasn't fooled.

"You keep up a very good front, my dear. But we are two of a kind, you and me...and just as you knew I wanted to speak about my past tonight, I think you did not come to my door only to see me without my shirt on, as glorious as that sight may be."

Leliana chuckled. "Yes, you are a sexual god. I can barely contain my passion. If I weren't here, no doubt you would be tumbling a maid as we speak."

"No doubt," Zevran said with a sly smile, and reached into his pack. "But here...take a look. I thought you might be interested in this." He handed a piece of vellum to the bard. Leliana unrolled the vellum and scanned the page.

_T,_

_All I'm asking is that you wait. She will come to me - I know my Leliana. It will not be long._

_I realize that Loghain and Howe are waiting, but ask yourself...which is more important? That your client be satisfied almost immediately, or that he wait a few days and you continue to receive the support from my end which you so desperately need? _

_I will send the signal when she arrives at my door. Believe me; I am doing you a favor by removing her from your line of sight. She has at least as much training as any of your Crows, and she would make things troublesome for you. And if she brings more of their companions with her, so much the better - your organization has failed once already. I can only make things easier for you._

_~M_

"I thought as much," Leliana said quietly. She handed the vellum back to Zevran, who tucked it into his things and then went to sit beside the bard, whose face had returned to the coverlet, studying the pattern intently.

"Leliana...you have not spoken of this at all. If you should want to..." Zevran began, and then hesitated. Leliana smiled a half-smile, and leaned over to kiss his cheek in thanks - a friendly gesture. He surprised her and turned his face at the last moment, catching her lips with his own. She jumped with surprise and started to pull away, and then something seemed to snap within the red-headed bard and she melted into him. Zevran slid his fingers into Leliana's hair, and their mouths opened under each other.

Zevran groaned a little, and then Leliana pulled away, her breath coming quickly. . Zevran let her go, looking at her in surprise. She ran one hand through her hair, and then put her other hand to her lips.

"No. I am not..." Leliana said. She shook her head, and then looked down into her lap. Zevran waited, and when Leliana didn't continue, he spoke up.

"Not what? A woman? Human? In need of release? How long has it been, firebird?"

"Years..." she murmured. "It's been years. But, Zev...I prefer women." She glanced at him apprehensively, hoping he wouldn't take it the wrong way. Zevran shrugged.

"As do I, as much as I might joke otherwise. It is tremendous fun making Alistair sweat." Zevran said with a grin. "Our line of work often demands intimacy. You have been with men, have you not?"

"I have."

Zevran nodded, answering some question within himself. He shifted a tiny bit closer to her, and put a gentle hand onto the small of her back.

"I am not looking for commitments...are you?" His tone was light and friendly.

Leliana considered. "I do not... care, for you, Zevran. Not that way. You're a friend."

"Then perhaps all the both of us need right now is to feel some of that friendly caring. To feel that there is someone in the world who would miss us if we were gone. I...would miss you," he said gently, brushing a piece of hair back from her delicate face. His voice was easy-going, and Leliana relaxed...his body language told her he truly seemed to be offering something with no strings attached. "It is your choice, of course. I will not feel slighted either way. But should you need it, I am here."

Leliana looked at him appraisingly, and then turned to face him. She brought one hand up to stroke his cheek.

"Elves...do not grow beards, do they?" she said, and Zevran shook his head.

"I have always detested a man's face...who wants to be rubbed raw while kissing? Your face is... as soft as a woman's, Zev..." Leliana said, and leaned forward to brush her lips along his jawline. He held his breath.

"No commitments," she murmured, and Zevran's eyes fluttered as her mouth glided along his jaw.

"None," he whispered back.

* * *

><p>"It's absolute garbage. Simply awful! What have I done?" Wade raved, waving his hands. "Take it off. Take it off now, so I may throw it on the pile of ruined hopes and dreams, and sob for the loss of something that could have been a masterpiece!"<p>

"What's wrong with it?" Alistair asked in a puzzled voice, looking down at his armor. He was standing on a tiny platform, wearing the dragon scale armor that Wade and Herren had just brought to Eamon's estate. Lyra lifted her arms as Leliana strapped her into her drake scale armor. She was as baffled as Alistair. The armor was fantastic.

"What's wrong with it?" Wade cried. "Are you blind? I wouldn't let a festering swine wear this!"

"Don't listen to him," Herren said, his voice placating. "Wade, the armor is beautiful. Your best work." His voice was cajoling, and Lyra took it to mean that Wade routinely over-reacted to things.

"Garbage," Wade said sadly. "Look, the greaves are too tight. They'll chafe!"

"Actually, they're perfect," Alistair said. "I can feel how well fitted they are." He held his arms out to the side and grinned at Lyra. "Look - I'm enormous!" he said gleefully, and she giggled.

"You're a target, that's for certain. If you weren't so good with your shield, I'd be worried," she commented.

The dragon scale armor was beautiful to behold...made of silverite and red steel, with an overlay of flexible, shining dragon scales. Wade had added the Theirin crest to the backpiece, and the shoulders were larger than Alistair's head. Wrist-guards and knee-guards flared out in the approximation of wings, and anywhere the metal showed through, red and gold inlay had been worked in decorative curls, simulating flames.

"No. No, no, no! I cannot allow you to wear this," Wade said fretfully, and began tugging at Alistair's breastplate. Herren hurried over and grasped Wade's shoulders, leading him away from the Warden.

"Wade, take a look at Lady Cousland's armor. Lady, how does it feel?" Herren said, trying to calm Wade down in the interest of not losing business.

"It's fantastic. Very lightweight, and I love the way it fits," Lyra said, twirling as prettily as any girl in a new dress. "The inlays are beautiful, too," she said, admiring the shining red and gold swirls he had worked into the armor.

"Theirin colors. I added them after I heard the news of your engagement," Wade said excitedly. "They _did_ turn out well, did they not?"

"She's the prettiest warrior I've ever seen," Herren said, seeming to be glad that Wade was happy, and then Wade let out a cry of revulsion.

"Eugh! Herren, a splotch. A _dye_ splotch! I cannot have the future queen wearing my armor with a _splotch!_"

"Wade, there is no splotch!" Herren said desperately. "Please, don't get excited-"

"Aaaarrrgh!" Wade cried, and collapsed on a nearby couch, throwing one arm over his eyes in despair.

Lyra quietly handed Herren a coin pouch. "The armor is perfect. Thank you. We'll let you know if any adjustments need to be made."

Herren bowed, a grateful look in his eye, and then he collected a much protesting Wade and they made their way out of the house.

"That was...dramatic," Alistair said. "The man can make armor, though."

"Fast, too," Lyra said. She inspected Alistair with what she hoped was an outsider's eye. He was really quite impressive. "You should wear that to the Landsmeet. It makes you look very kingly."

"Works for me. Are we still going to the Alienage after this?" Alistair asked, beginning to unbuckle himself.

"Yes. Do you think we should be armored?" Lyra asked. "After what happened yesterday with the Crows, I'm nervous..."

Alistair considered. "I think you're right. I know Eamon wants us to look royal, but I'd rather stay alive. I think I'll save the dragon armor for the Landsmeet...I'll wear my splintmail today instead."

She nodded. "I'll save mine, as well." She began to remove the pieces of drake scale armor with Leliana's help, and when they were done a servant promised to move the armor to their suite. They headed back to their rooms to put on their old chain and plate, and Leliana tagged along, intent on doing Lyra's hair for her.

When they got there, Leliana gave a little cry of joy. On the floor in front of the bed was a box filled with pairs of shoes. They had apparently been delivered while Wade was fitting their new armor. Lyra began fastening her old armor into place as Leliana gushed over the footwear.

"Your shoes! Lyra, look..." Leliana said, and knelt by the box. She held up several pairs, and then frowned.

"But they are so simple. So..._plain_. Where are the bows? The frills? The beads and the ribbons?"

"They're _shoes_, not ball gowns, Leli," Lyra said. She buckled her breastplate in place and slid her blades into the sheaths on her back. No way would she go into Denerim unarmed again.

Leliana sighed. "You are sometimes a very disappointing female, Lyra." Lyra rolled her eyes as she slid the last buckle into place, and then Leliana sat her down at the vanity and began to style her hair.

Alistair laughed as all of this was happening. "Hey, I like her just as she is," he said, an affectionate smile on his face.

"Thank you," Lyra said, slightly mollified.

"She'd murder me if I didn't say that," he whispered loudly, and Lyra threw a hairpin at him.

Alistair finished buckling his splintmail into place and pulled the Theirin tabard over his head.

"Guess what Riordan told me this morning," he said as he adjusted the cloth.

"Um...we were wrong, this isn't a Blight?" Lyra asked.

"Ha. No, there's an old store-room here in the city, with Grey Warden equipment in it. He gave me the key...Some of it was even recovered from Ostagar after the battle. We might find something of Duncan's!" Alistair said excitedly.

"So I take it we're going there first, are we?" Lyra said with an indulgent smile.

"Who's going?" Leliana asked, smoothing Lyra's hair gently.

"Wynne, Zevran, us, Kestrel and you, if you'll come," Lyra said. Leliana nodded, her hands tightening on the brush just slightly. Lyra didn't notice.

* * *

><p>Alistair scanned the alleyway, and then his eyes lit up. "Here..." he said, and pulled a key from his pocket to open a door that led to what was obviously an old store-room. Wooden crates and boxes were randomly scattered, and piles of metal and wood were stacked against the walls. They waded through the junk, pushing aside broken down crates to clear a path though the room.<p>

"I don't see anything that looks like it might have belonged to the Wardens..." Alistair said with a frown.

"Wait a moment..." Zevran said, and began inspecting a bookshelf. "Alistair, help me," he said, and the two of them shoved the bookshelf aside to reveal a hidden stair. Kestrel barked delightedly.

"Ha! Brilliant, Zev," Alistair said, and the two of them led the way down the stairs. Kestrel and the ladies followed behind.

Armor stands and dusty weapon racks were neatly scattered around the room. A pile of blooded, dirty equipment had been dumped into one corner, and Alistair's eyes lit up.

"There. That looks like it's seen recent battle," he said, and began rooting through the equipment. Some of it was junk, some of it broken and rusted beyond repair. Lyra made her way to his side, peering over his shoulder. Kestrel sniffed around the room, finding the whole place very interesting, and the others looked around idly. Leliana looked sidelong at Zevran...the assassin seemed entirely absorbed in a dagger he had picked up from a sideboard, and was turning it gently in his fingers. She found something else to look at, her heart fluttering strangely.

"There's got to be...something..." Alistair muttered, and then he paused. He lifted a dented and blood-spattered shield from the pile. Lyra's breath caught in her throat...she had stared at that shield for five days, running from Highever behind the man who had recruited her into the Wardens.

A reverent look was on Alistair's face, and he traced the blue and white Grey Warden griffin sigil that covered the back. "Lyra...his shield," he said softly. Lyra put a hand on his arm, and then Alistair's eyes narrowed slightly as he turned the shield around to see the inside.

"What's this," he murmured, and used his fingernail to pick at a piece of what seemed to be vellum, sticking out from under a metal plate on the inside of the shield. After a moment, it slid free, revealing itself to be a paper, folded in quarters.

Alistair set the shield down, turning the vellum over in his fingers, and then unfolded it. The edges were grimed and dirty, but it had been well protected by the sturdy shield, even through the battle it had seen. Lyra peered over Alistair's arm, reading over his shoulder. The words made her heart stop momentarily.

_Alistair,_

_If you are reading this letter, then it must mean my life has come to an end. I write this to you not so you can mourn, but so that you can heal. I may be a strong man, but I am an old man, and have lived quite a fulfilling life. You are aware my nightmares have returned, and I am thankful should the Maker decide to spare me the fate of the taint claiming my mind._

_We never spoke of your father, Maric, but it is time for you to know his true feelings towards you. Though you may feel your father abandoned you, this was not the case within his heart. I had spent a great deal of time along Maric's side, and he spoke of you often. While he couldn't be there for you himself, you have been watched over your entire life by those he trusted. Never doubt that he loved you, for he did._

_I was conscripted when I was barely more than a boy. I have lived out my years serving the Grey Wardens, and am proud to have been amongst their ranks. Although I was never provided with the opportunity to have a child as I had once dreamed, I believe that wish was granted by the Maker when you came into my life. You are Maric's son. You are my son._

_Remember the words of The Joining: one day, we shall join you again. May the Maker always watch over you and keep you safe._

_Duncan_

Lyra felt tears springing to her eyes as she read the beautiful words Duncan had left specifically for her fiance. Alistair was very still, and she glanced at his face, unsurprised to see a tear drift gently down his cheek. She slid her arms around his waist, and he held her with one arm, his eyes never leaving the note he held.

* * *

><p><em>AN: When I first began writing this story, I found this beautiful sentiment written by FenZev - it's entitled "Codex Entry: Letter to Alistair", and I thought it was such a wonderful idea for providing the closure that Alistair would need upon the loss of his father figure. So I contacted FenZev, who graciously allowed that when the time came, I could include it in my story. If you haven't read anything by FenZev, check out her work. It's well worth your time! _

_As for THIS story...what can I say, it keeps stretching. I was certain I would get to the Alienage today! I suppose the NEXT chapter will cover the Alienage, and then after that, we move on to the Landsmeet. Is this saga really getting close to being finished? :-D  
><em>

_Thanks for the reviews, KnightOfHolyLight, FenZev, lobowolf, Berserkians Fury, The Original Frizzi, Angelakane, bananamonkey86, and DarkDevon13. Also thanks those who have signed up for alerts! *virtual hugs* It's amazing to know that people want to know what happens next! :-D  
><em>


	64. Alienage Unrest

CHAPTER 62

"You can't keep us out!"

"Shut up, Shianni! All you ever do is cause trouble!"

Lyra and Alistair pushed their way through the crowd. The Alienage was filled with muttering, shoving people.

"What's going on?" Alistair said to a nearby elf. The elf glared at him, and turned away.

"Like you care, Shem. Come to slum a little?" she said, and gave Lyra a rude look. "We don't see many _women_ soldiers."

"Actually, we're Grey Wardens," Lyra said. "This is Alistair, and I'm Lyra..." She hoped that Leliana's stories of them had reached the Alienage...it might be enough to open some doors that would otherwise remain shut.

"Wardens, soldiers, it doesn't matter. All shemlen are the same," the elf said snidely, and walked away, muttering to herself.

"What was _that_ about?" Alistair asked, perplexed.

"Maybe things are worse than we thought..." Lyra murmured, concerned.

"None of the elves who've gone in there have come out again. I want to know why!" the young elven women shouted, the same one who had been shouting to be let in to a nearby building guarded by two heavily armored men, and two more wearing fancy robes.

"Tevinter Magisters..." Wynne murmured in Lyra's ear. "Now what are they doing here, I wonder?"

"Doesn't Tevinter deal in slaves?" Lyra murmured back, remembering her history lessons. Wynne nodded.

"Blood magic, as well. It's a normality in Tevinter."

"That's not true, Shianni...my sister went in, and came back out again, and she was cured!" a woman shouted. "You're jumping at shadows!"

"Valendrian is in there. He wasn't even sick. Does no one else care what they're doing? Will no one stand with me?" Shianna cried. A clod of dirt smacked against her dress and burst apart, followed by two more. The crowd was growing violent. Shianni blocked her body with her hands, and Alistair pushed forward, shouting for quiet.

"No one shall attack this woman!" he roared. "Have you all nothing better to do than to stand around and vilify her? Return to your homes."

The elves, used to human authority, began grumbling, and the area cleared quickly. Shianni brushed off her dress, and the party approached her.

"Thanks...never expected help from a shemlen," she said.

"Why do you keep calling us that?" Alistair asked.

"Shemlen? It's the elven word for human," Shianni said. "Anyhow, thanks for your help." She looked back at the door, and Lyra spoke up.

"Can you tell us what's going on around here? Why is everyone so angry?"

Shianni turned back to her. "For weeks now, there's been a plague circulating the Alienage. It happens from time to time...when you live like this, how can it not?" she said bitterly, and then continued. "Shortly after it started, _they_ showed up. The Mages. They claimed they could cure us, but they had to quarantine the ones who were already sick. It hasn't helped...the plague has continued to spread, and the ones they take in the building for treatment don't always come out. Now our elder, Valendrian, has been taken...and no one will do anything!" Shianni clenched her fists. She was fine-boned in the manner of her people, and had short red hair with beaded braids circling her head. Apparently, she had a temper to match her hair color.

"Is this the only building with elves who are sick?" Wynne said. Shianni shook her head.

"No, there are a few homes that have been set up as hospices. Some of them get better on their own, others... don't."

"Wardens, your leave?" Wynne said, and they nodded. "Shianni, I am a healer...if you'll take me to the sick ones, I may be able to help."

"Really?" Shianni said, her brows creasing in surprise. "We've received no help...other than these Mages. I'd be grateful...my cousin Kallian is among the sick ones. Follow me, Lady," she said, and Wynne pressed a few poultices into Lyra's hands before hurrying after the elven woman.

"What say you?" Zevran said. "Shall we...see what we can see?" He lifted his chin toward the Mages, his meaning clear in his eyes.

"Is there any doubt in your mind?" Lyra said, and they walked forward. Kestrel growled menacingly at the Mages, and Lyra crushed his head to her side, shushing him. He continued to growl in his throat, the vibration passing through her leg.

"No one enters. This place is quarantined," the guard said.

"We have a healer with us...can we do anything to help?" Lyra asked, conveniently not mentioning that Wynne wasn't with them right _then_.

"It's under control, Lady," one of the Mages said. "Truly, the plague is quite contagious. I wouldn't advise you to stay in the Alienage." His tone was slightly threatening, and Lyra was about to challenge him when Leliana touched her arm.

"If it's dangerous, we should go, don't you think?" she said, and Zevran pulled at Lyra's hand.

"Yes, let's," the assassin said, and she allowed herself to be pulled away.

"What are you two talking about?" she said. "We need to get into that building."

"Yes, but before we start making a scene and possibly tangling with those Mages, let's see if there's another way in," Leliana said. "Follow us." She and Zevran walked casually around the edge of the Alienage, leading Lyra and Alistair on a circuitous route that eventually ended at the back of the building. A single guard was standing in front of a door, and Lyra smiled. Much, much better.

"Hello there..." Leliana said with a sweet smile, tipping her head seductively and leaning her hip slightly. "Busy?"

The guard shifted. "Look, don't bother with the act. If you want to get in here, I can't do it. I'd lose this job, and I can't afford that. They're paying me three silvers a day to stand here and keep busybodies like you lot out."

"Would five sovereigns make it worth your while?" Lyra said, and the guard's eyes bulged out of his head.

"Let's see them," he said, and she held up the coins. He held out his hand, and she dropped them into his palm with a soft _clink_.

"Lady, for five sovereigns, I never saw you at all," he said, and stepped aside to let them into the building. "Knock when you want to come back out...I'll open the door when it's safe," he said. They piled in, and the door closed behind them.

"Nice to know that guards can be bribed so easily," Alistair said. "Makes me worry for the security of Ferelden."

"We'll pay ours enough to secure their loyalties," Lyra said. "And love goes a long way toward loyalty. My parents were well-loved, and it showed."

"That's true," Alistair said.

A man walked into the room and stopped dead at the sight of them.

"How'd you get in here?" he said in disbelief, and yelled for backup.

"I knew we'd need our armor!" Alistair said, and pulled Duncan's shield from his back as he charged forward, his meteorite sword crackling with electricity and heat. Lyra joined him, and Leliana and Zevran managed to get behind the group to flank. It was no contest...within a few moments, the four men had been cut down, and Lyra sheathed her blades again. Zevran searched the bodies, but found nothing of interest.

They moved slowly through the few rooms, but found no one else. There were a few rows of cots, but not an elf was in sight. Kestrel sniffed disinterestedly, and looked up at his mistress, tongue lolling.

"Where is everyone?" Lyra asked, perplexed.

"Look at this," Zevran called. He held up a paper he'd picked up from the desk he was rifling through. Lyra took it from his fingers and scanned it, her eyes widening.

"This is a list..." she said. She read it aloud to the others.

_Females 4 (breeding age)  
><em>_Males 4 (2 workable, 2 older)  
><em>_Children 2 (2 female)  
><em>_shipment sent 17th Bloomingtide_

"That's two days ago," Lyra murmured. "Why do I suddenly have a very bad feeling about this?"

"Any more papers like that, Zev?" Alistair asked.

"Not here, no. But...here's a key," he said, and held up a small brass key on a ring. "It's got a number on it."

Lyra took it from his fingers. The number 24 was stamped clearly onto it, and she pocketed it.

"Let's go figure out where this key fits," she said. They went back to the first room and tapped on the door, and a moment later the guard opened it.

"I heard the noise in there. I'm getting out of here...there'll be hell to pay when they figure out it was me what let you in," he said.

"Before you go, can you tell us - have there been any groups coming and going through this back entrance?" Lyra asked. She fished another few sovereigns out of her pouch and held them out. The guard took a quick look around, and then took the coins.

"Almost every night, people are coming and going. Sometimes there's elves with them, sometimes not. They took a bunch out early this morning."

"Where did they go?" Lyra asked.

"They always head in that direction," the guard said, pointing off down the alleyway. "I really don't know anymore, so don't ask me."

"You've been very helpful," Lyra said. "Maker's blessing." The guard jogged off, taking care not to be seen by those in the front of the building.

"Ready?" Lyra asked, and wordlessly, they moved off down the alleyway.

"My flower...look," Zevran said, and pointed above the doorways. Numbers were visible...some done in peeling paint, some worked in metal, some carved into the wood of the buildings.

"Too easy," Lyra murmured, and they followed the numbers until they came to a door with 24 above it, done in metal. Lyra knocked on the door, and when there was no answer, she fit the key into the lock. It turned easily, and they let themselves in.

A series of doors met their eyes, and Lyra was perplexed.

"An apartment house," Zevran said, catching her look. "Each of these doors leads to a small home. Chances are, five or six families lived here." Lyra nodded...it made sense, although she was slightly appalled at the squalid conditions of the place. There were cracks in the walls, showing sunlight through. _It must be miserable in the winter, _Lyra thought._  
><em>

They knocked on the first door, and no one was surprised when there was no answer. Lyra pushed it open, and a small, one-room dwelling met their eyes...a run-down kitchen table with four chairs, one double bed with the covers neatly pulled up, a cooking area with a tiny wood-burning stove and a wash-tub set on a bench. A few dishes were stacked neatly on a sideboard, and someone had tried to brighten the place with some yellow wildflowers, which had long since died and drooped stiffly over the sides of the cracked pitcher. Clothing hung limply from a few nails set high on the walls...pants, shirts, two dresses. A child's summer frock... Lyra's eyes were drawn to a small rag doll lying bereft on the floor.

A search of the other rooms revealed much of the same...the elves who lived here seemed very poor to Lyra, but Zevran actually commented on the quality of the bed-linens in one room. It was shocking, and Lyra vowed to herself that something should be done about the Alienage...it wasn't right for any of Denerim's people to live like this. Entire families, with only one bed, living in one room...

Zevran opened the final door, and an elf shrieked in terror.

"What are you doing here? Get out!" she cried, and then began to cough.

"We won't hurt you...we're trying to find out what's been happening to the elves," Lyra said. The elf looked at her suspiciously, and spat phlegm into a handkerchief.

"Please, you have to go," she said in a raspy voice. "They haven't taken me because I'm sick, and if they find out you were here they'll kill me."

"We won't let that happen," Lyra said. "Where do they go?" She pulled one of the healing poultices Wynne had given her out of her bag, and pressed it into the elf's hands. The girl looked at her, fear and sickness clouding her features, and then she pointed weakly toward the back wall. Zevran hurried to look, and in half a minute he had opened a hidden door.

Lyra pulled a few more sovereigns out of her purse and pressed them into the girl's fingers. "For your help," she murmured, and hurried after Zevran and Alistair. Kestrel pushed past her.

The door led out into another narrow alleyway, this one secluded and private. Weeds grew rampantly along the edges of the walls, and a clear path through them showed obvious foot traffic. The party hurried forward to the only door that was evident, and Leliana put her hand out.

"Let us go first...I have an idea." She turned to Zevran. "Do you trust me?" she said softly.

"With my life, firebird," he said, and Leliana said, "Give me your daggers."

Zevran took them off, and Leliana strapped them to her hip. She took a bit of rope out of her pouch and looped it over his wrists.

Zevran chuckled. "If I had known this is what you had planned, I would have invited you to my room sooner," he said in a sultry voice, and Lyra's eyebrows shot up. _Have they been sharing blankets?_ she wondered, and her eyes darted to her best friend's face. Leliana ignored him, and knotted the rope.

"You are familiar with this knot, yes?" she said. Zevran peered at it momentarily.

"One pull, here, and the rope will fall away," she said. "You are not truly bound."

"A pity," he said, his scandalous accent skimming lightly over the words, their meaning all too evident. Leliana took his shoulder and led him forward. She pounded on the door, and a moment later it opened a crack.

"Not expectin' shipments right now," a rough voice said.

"Oh, but this one is...special," she said, and the guard peered at Zevran, and then the door opened. Leliana pushed Zevran ahead of her, shouldering her way through the door, followed closely by Lyra and Alistair. Kestrel stuck close to Lyra, seeming to understand what was going on.

"Who are you?" a woman asked when they came into the room. She glared suspiciously at Leliana, who gestured to Zevran.

"This one...we've been after him for awhile now. Surely you knew about him...your superior must have told you," she said.

"Uh, no..." the woman said, a confused look on her face.

"Well, believe me, not everyone can afford to hire bounty hunters like us," Leliana said. "This slave must be well worth it. You'll want to take us to the boss right away."

"Uh...very well. Follow me," the woman said, and led them down a hallway.

Lyra was impressed. Leliana was certainly a quick thinker...she doubted she would have been able to come up with any such ploy.

The woman opened a door, and called out "Caladrius! The bounty hunters you hired have brought back your slave."

"The what?" a voice said, and Lyra entered the room in time to see a man wearing fancy Mage's robes with feathered pauldrons turning around. Behind him were several large cages, and in the cages...were elves.

"I hired no bounty hunters..." the man said, and his eyes narrowed. "What have you done, Devera?"

"What do you mean, what have _I_ done?" the woman asked defensively.

"Get them!" Caladrius shouted, and Zevran pulled his wrists apart in time to catch the daggers Leliana tossed to him. Three men rushed up, and Lyra gasped to see the man called Caladrius whip a staff off of his back and begin twirling it over his head. Lightning began to crackle, and Lyra knew from experience that his spell could mean nothing good for them. She pulled her hip dagger from it's sheath, tossed it upward to catch it by the blade, and made a wild throw at the Mage. The second the knife left her hand, she was certain she had missed...and then Caladrius staggered and fell, her blade buried in his chest.

Alistair was shouting something as he charged toward the guards, and Devera was calling for backup. In moments, the room was full of bodies, pressed close in combat. Swords flashed brightly, blades clashed noisily. An enemy bumped into Lyra as he battled Alistair, and Lyra elbowed him in the face before bringing up her sword to block a slash from her own opponent. Leliana swept her enemy's legs out from under him, making it all too easy for Zevran to end his life with a spray of blood. Kestrel jumped around, assisting them in the best way he knew how...by being a distraction, and setting up his mistress for killing blows. Alistair was murder with his shield and sword, and the griffin symbol was blooded anew.

It wasn't long before the Wardens and their companions were the only ones left standing, and Lyra made her way over to Caladrius. The man was panting in pain, and his eyes were glazed.

"Please..." he groaned.

"How long has this been going on?" Lyra asked angrily. "Slavers, here in Ferelden?"

"If...you want..answers...heal me," he said, his eyes bright with pain. Lyra considered.

"Prove it's worth it to me."

"Loghain..." Caladrius gritted. "Loghain...brought us in."

"What?" Alistair asked. His face was hard. "Why?"

"Funds...for the city. Overcrowding...Alienage. Heal me..." Caladrius groaned, and Lyra yanked the dagger from his chest and ripped open the remaining healing poultice. She pressed it to his chest.

"Talk," she growled, and some of the color began to come back to the Mage's face. Zevran quietly moved his staff out of reach.

"I can make you a deal," Caladrius said. "One-hundred sovereigns, and I'll give you the paperwork Loghain gave me. With it, you'll be able to implicate him."

"Why would I pay you for that? I could kill you now and take it off your body," Lyra said.

"Not on my body...somewhere safe," Caladrius said. "Let me go, pay me, and I'll tell you the location of the papers."

Lyra worked her lip between her teeth. She looked at Alistair, her eyes troubled.

"We need the evidence," she said softly. "It could mean definitive victory at the Landsmeet..."

"But at what cost?" Alistair asked, his eyes just as troubled as her own.

"I have a counter-offer," Leliana said sweetly. "You stop lying to us and give us the papers, and I'll make your death as quick and painless as possible. Or, continue to lie, and I'll make certain you die screaming after days and days."

Caladrius scowled at her. "Let me go," he said.

"Wrong answer," Leliana's soft voice said, and she pinned his hand to the floor with the blade of her dagger. He screamed terribly, and Lyra's stomach turned to see this new side of her friend.

"Lyra, look in his robes," Leliana said coolly, and Lyra ruffled in his jacket and pulled out a sheaf of papers. She unfolded them eagerly...

Loghain's heavy signature was scrawled clearly at the bottom of the page, along with Anora's smaller, neater hand. Her heart soared...she could practically taste victory.

"How did you know?" she asked wonderingly, looking at Leliana.

"Not important right now," Leliana said. She leaned down, her beautiful face close to the Mage's.

"Now...Caladrius. How shall we kill you?" she said softly, and the man blubbered in fear.

"Leliana..." Zevran said, his voice slightly scolding, and the redhead sighed.

"It seems I do not have the time to torture you the way you deserve," she said, and drew her blade across his throat. His eyes widened in death, and went glassy. Lyra shuddered slightly.

They opened the cages, and the elves left quickly, obviously frightened and, Lyra imagined, probably somewhat disturbed by the scene they had just witnessed. One lingered, and introduced himself as Valendrian, the village elder. Lyra told him about Shianni, and how the elven woman had been worried for him. Valendrian said he would seek her out.

"Thank you... we have already lost so many to what we thought was this plague. It might have continued for Maker only knows how long had you not stepped in," Valendrian said.

"It was no trouble," Alistair said. Valendrian took a closer look at him, and then at Lyra, and his eyes widened.

"You're the Wardens...the Theirins," he said wonderingly, and knelt.

"Your Majesty..." he said, one arm crossed over his chest, and Alistair looked embarrassed. He reached for Valendrian's hand and helped him to his feet.

"Not just yet. But if it does come to pass, then I would like to meet with you to see how we might go about improving the Alienage," Alistair said. Valendrian nodded, his eyes shining.

"It would be my honor," he said fervently.

They left the building and sought Wynne out. She had successfully cured nearly all of the remaining sickly elves, much to the delight of Valendrian and Shianni. Lyra quietly left a small pile of coins on Valendrian's table, knowing of no other way to help the elves immediately. Her heart was breaking to see how they lived, and she was glad that Alistair seemed to feel the same way. They led Wynne back to the apartment house, and she cured the elven woman. They left her sleeping, tucked gently into bed.

Outside the building where they had first met Shianni, the two guards and Tevinter Magisters were gone. There was no sign of them...Lyra assumed they had discovered what was happening, and beat it out of town.

They left the Alienage not long afterward. The sun was setting through the buildings of Denerim, and a soft breeze brushed through the girls' hair as they walked. Much had happened to give Lyra pause...conditions in the Alienage, her brief glimpse Leliana's darker side - so different from her normal happy-go-lucky attitude, the comments Zevran had made. Her mind was flying from subject to subject, and she imagined there would be some interesting conversations over the next few days.

The Landsmeet was right around the corner. Lyra couldn't wait to hand Caladrius' papers to Arl Eamon...she had a feeling he would dance the Remigold when he read them.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Inspiration is a funny thing. I started writing the last chapter (not this one - the last one) this morning, and it took me hours to slog through it. I was exhausted, and I felt completely burned out, so I took a nap and tried not to think about the story...terribly afraid that I had hit a wall and wouldn't finish it. After dinner, I finally gave up trying to cram the Alienage into that chapter and divided things, and finally finished it up at 10pm my time, and posted it. Then suddenly, things began to flow again...and I stayed up way too late again (and I've just remembered I have a dentist appointment in five hours. Whoops.). But as I said, inspiration is a funny thing._

_I did minimal research on this part of the quest - basically, looked up names and went off of memory. I know it's different, but I hope I didn't screw things up too badly. Yay AU!_

_Thanks to The Original Frizzi, Jaden Anderson, FenZev, and KnightOfHolyLight for their ninja-like reviews. See y'all tomorrow after my cleaning, and probably another nap. :-)_


	65. An Intimate Gathering

_A/N: There is a discontinuity in this chapter, which is filled in by the short story "Prank War", found on The Original Frizzi's story page. Don't get confused - some of this story is over there. ;-) _

CHAPTER 63

Eamon was overjoyed when they presented him with the papers implicating Loghain. He didn't dance the Remigold, but he did something better...he planned an enormous dinner and ball, and invited every noble family in Denerim as a way to meet privately with everyone who had a vote in the Landsmeet. There would be about a hundred in attendance, and it was planned for the very next night. Eamon worded the invitations to read as a celebration of the engagement of Alistair and Lyra, and he set his four scribes to copying the invitations for three hours.

With such short notice, the house was thrown into an absolute uproar, and Lyra and the others hid in their rooms, trying to stay out of the way. She and Alistair whispered til the wee hours, making plans for the improvement of the Alienage...Lyra kept remembering the rag doll on the floor, and the little frock hanging on the rough wall.

The next morning before breakfast, Lyra crept down the hall and knocked on Leliana's door. The bard answered after a moment, her red hair sticking in every direction.

"Can I come in?" Lyra asked, and Leliana silently pushed open the door, yawning hugely.

"What are you wearing tonight?" Leliana asked through her yawn, stretching slightly and combing her fingers through her hair. She stripped herself out of her clothing and knelt, gloriously nude, in front of the chest at the end of her bed. Lyra perched on the bed, watching idly. She had never seen Leliana in the full flesh before, and she was surprised at the amount of scarring on her body. She had old, faded welts on her back, a long, shiny gash up one side, and small nicks and cuts along her abdomen. Her legs were shapely, but somewhat bruised at the moment, and Lyra counted at least three more visible scars.

"Uh...not sure, actually. Maybe you can help me?"

"Sure...anything you'd like. I have to go into town after lunch, but I'll help you after I get back," Leliana said, and fastened her breastband and smallclothes into place, then began to rummage in the trunk again.

"What about you?" Lyra asked, wanting to bring up the marks on Leliana's body but unsure how to do so.

"I had a beautiful dress made, hoping I might get the chance to wear it," Leliana said. "It's in the wardrobe...take a look."

Lyra hopped off the bed and opened the wardrobe, and gave a cry of delight at the kelly green dress that met her eyes. It was made of shining silk, dipping in tightly at the waist and low at the collar. The sleeves were simple, off the shoulder straps, circling the upper arms with a wide, three-inch band. Pink rosettes and trailing ribbons hung from the center of the bosom, and more rosettes trailed down the skirt in a wavy line, ending in a garden of pink flowers of different sizes and shades on the bottom left of the skirt.

"This is exquisite, Leli," Lyra said. "No one's even going to look at any other girl with you in the room."

"If I have my way, you'll be the center of attention all night," Leliana said. "But it _is_ a nice dress, isn't it?"

"Beautiful," Lyra said, touching the rosettes gently.

"You should wear the gold one, and I'll curl your hair," Leliana said, and tied her breeches tightly, then moved to the large, polished piece of obsidian that served as mirror, wearing pants and breastband. She picked up her brush and began to work the tangles out of her hair, the welts on her back shining in the morning sunlight.

Lyra hesitated, and then grasped her courage. "Leli...what happened to your...back?"

Leliana didn't react, but continued brushing her hair. "Do you remember when I told you about my escape from Orlais?" Lyra made an affirmative noise.

"I got these from the men who tortured me. They used hot irons. It was months before it didn't hurt to wear clothing," Leliana said casually, and began to braid a piece of her hair beside her face.

"Leli...how awful," Lyra said, unsure of what else to say.

"Yes, it was. But I don't intend to let anything like that ever happen again...not to me, not to anyone I love," Leliana said firmly, and tied off her braid, then moved back to the trunk and pulled a tunic out. She slipped it over her head and belted it.

"You...got very intense yesterday. With Caladrius," Lyra said hesitantly. "I've never seen that side of you before."

"Do you know what they do to slaves, Lyra?" Leliana said, her voice hardening slightly.

"They're sold into households, aren't they? I thought they were like servants, but without pay."

"The lucky ones are. The ones who aren't so fortunate are forced to work in horrid conditions, or used for experimentation. In Tevinter, the magisters use them as sources of blood for their magic...they buy the ugly, the old, the ones who can't work as whores or aren't strong enough for manual labor, and bleed them dry, then discard them like so much trash. Children are forced to work in whorehouses, as well...Zevran really was lucky to be bought by the Crows. As pretty as he is, he could have easily ended up much worse. Ferelden is blessedly free of such practices, and I cannot stand by and allow such things to happen...not while I draw breath," Leliana said firmly.

Lyra was shocked...she knew that Tevinter dealt in slaves, and that Kirkwall had once been a hub for slavers...but to hear the practice described in detail by one who had seen it firsthand was quite different from reading about it in history books while seated in the cozy library at Highever.

"I wish you _had_ tortured him," Lyra whispered. Leliana nodded.

"So do I, mon ami." She sat beside Lyra and hugged her close. "But do not let this bother you...you and Alistair will do so much good when you are crowned, and you truly _can_ change the world. I'll be here to help." She drew back and looked closely at Lyra, noting her haunted expression.

"How are you feeling about everything? You've gone through a lot these past few days...and these last few months," Leliana said with concern. She smoothed Lyra's hair back from her face with gentle fingers. "Do you feel better now that Howe is dead?"

"No," Lyra whispered. "I thought I would, but I just feel...empty."

Leliana nodded, and pulled Lyra's head down onto her shoulder. "Only time will heal those wounds, love. Time, and support." She kissed Lyra's forehead and continued to stroke her hair, much in the manner of a big sister. Lyra sighed, and snuggled close.

"Leliana," she said.

"Hmm?"

"Did you sleep with Zevran?"

"Yes," Leliana said. Lyra was a little shocked at her easy answer, but she supposed that she ought to be used to it by now. Leliana was nothing if not open, honest and unashamed.

"I thought you were...you, um..."

Leliana chuckled. "I am. But Zevran...is a friend. We comforted each other...we were both in need of it. When you need love, you would be surprised by how little it matters where it comes from."

Lyra considered this. "It doesn't seem possible to me that I could ever love a woman."

"I hope you never have to, my darling. You and Alistair are perfect together, and it would take something very serious to drive you into another's arms. But I know this from experience...when a person is bereft, and solace is offered, it matters not who is offering it, as long as it is coming from an honest place. The heart opens gratefully to take love in, like a flower after a drought." She kissed Lyra's forehead again, and the younger girl hugged her tightly.

"Breakfast?" Leliana said, and Lyra nodded. She felt better, but the events of the past few days still weighed on her mind. Maybe a good practice bout would help her relax.

She was unable to get to her practice until that afternoon, and then she was rudely interrupted...but she ended up working her stress off, nonetheless.

* * *

><p>Alistair and Fergus were lounging in the latter's room after being chased out of the way by the servants, who were preparing frantically for the party that night. They were chatting idly, wasting time until they needed to get dressed for dinner.<p>

A servant was scrubbing the floor in the hallway, and had just lugged a bucket of clean water into the hallway when she was called away on another errand.

Fergus looked at the bucket, and a wicked idea blossomed in his skull. He hopped out of his chair and peered into the bucket...four sponges were floating in the water. He picked up the bucket, and brought it into the room.

"Alistair...how's your aim?" he said with a sly smile, and Alistair looked at him suspiciously.

* * *

><p>Lyra scooped feathers into a pillowcase, and looked around the room...it had taken the better part of an hour to clear it of all the down, but it seemed like they were finally finished. Alistair swept the last of the feathers into a dustpan, and dumped it into her pillowcase.<p>

"You are in so much trouble," Lyra said.

"It was Fergus," Alistair said, his eyes wide and innocent.

"Liar," Fergus said. "Your fiance started the whole thing."

"I did not!" Alistair cried indignantly. He looked at Fergus and Lyra. "You two were the ones who have this whole 'prank war' history. I was an innocent bystander, unfairly accused of slanderous things."

"Right. Was that before or after you shoved whipped cream into my face?" Lyra said, raising her eyebrows.

"You...looked delicious?" Alistair said, and Lyra snorted with laughter.

"Now I need to wash my hair. Again," she said. "And so do the two of you. There's still flour all over you. And...you should have that shirt laundered, Alistair."

He looked down at the now-dry streak on his shirt. "Isolde won't be happy if this gets stained. I'm sorry, but that was just rude of Morrigan," he said, and pulled the shirt off. Fergus took the pillowcase from Lyra's outstretched hand, and kissed her cheek.

"I figured the future king and queen should have one last bout of adolescence before adulthood took hold too firmly," he said.

"Uh-huh. I'm sure that's what it was," Lyra said dryly, and smacked her brother's shoulder, suppressing a grin. It _had_ been fun. She would have to be sure and send Kit and her younger sisters a gift... She wondered if she might be able to have plush dragons made for the twin girls. "Since all of our pillows are ruined, you can make sure we get new ones, Fergus. And if you have to go to the market yourself, it would serve you right."

Fergus groaned and left the room with a good-natured smile on his face.

"Are you really angry?" Alistair asked, a slightly worried look on his handsome face. Lyra put her arms around his neck, and drew him in for a lingering kiss. Their breath mingled, and Alistair felt a flush of heat as Lyra's tongue slipped along his own. She moved her lips to his ear, playing her hands over his bare chest.

"Yes," she whispered breathily, and bit his earlobe gently. His hands tightened on her shoulders, and a soft sigh escaped his throat.

"Lyra, I'm back from the market-" Leliana said as she opened the door, and began to laugh as Lyra and Alistair jumped suddenly apart.

"Leliana..._knock_," Alistair said, but grinned at the bard.

"Alistair, my goodness. You're covered in...is that flour?" Leliana asked, her voice puzzled. She looked at Lyra. "And why is your hair all gummed up?"

"Long story, Leli. Will you help me get ready now?" Lyra asked, and Leliana shooed Alistair out of the room. He protested, and grabbed his clothing out of the closet before Leliana shoved him out of the door.

"Go get ready with Fergus," Leliana said, and shut the door firmly. She turned back to Lyra.

"And now, my darling, let's make you a princess," she said, her eyes sparkling.

* * *

><p>Alistair was standing near the door with Eamon, greeting people as they entered the estate. He hadn't seen any sign of Lyra or Leliana yet, and he wondered what could be keeping them.<p>

"Alistair... how nice you look," Isolde said with a smile. She was dressed in a simple, burgundy gown with a large bow tied in the back. Her hair was down, and softly waved, gleaming in the lamplight. Alistair wore a red and gold patterned tunic over a white silk shirt, with sleeves that had a row of buttons traveling at least four inches up his wrists. It was a pain in the ass to put on, and he had commissioned Wynne to help him get into the shirt. He wore dark brown pants, and new brown shoes that were making his feet hurt.

"Oh, thank you...as do you, Isolde," he said. She smiled at him, and held out her hand. Realizing his error, he quickly took her hand and brushed his lips along her knuckle.

"Where is your own lovely bride-to-be?" Isolde asked, and Alistair shrugged.

"Haven't seen her yet...still getting ready, I suppose," he said.

"They'll be down in just a moment," Wynne said. "I just left them." The Mage was wearing her robes, as always, but Wynne always looked proper, no matter what the setting was. Alistair took another glance around the room...there was Sten, standing watchfully in the corner, arms crossed, surveying things. Isolde had had a shirt and pants made for him, but he still looked half-barbarian, no matter how he was dressed. Oghren was perusing the tables, a tankard in his hand (Alistair was fairly certain he must have brought it from his room, because it was the only tankard in sight). His graveling laugh could be heard across the room, but he seemed to be behaving fairly well, much to the relief of Eamon and Isolde.

Morrigan had been persuaded into a simple, ankle-length black and white dress which hugged her slender figure. She wore the jewels they had recovered from the dragon's cave, and she glittered like a star. Her hair was down, and straight, and she stood by herself in a corner, observing the goings-on with her strange cat-like eyes. Alistair was tempted to go and speak with her, and then remembered his resolve, and chewed his lower lip resignedly. She looked lovely...but she wouldn't hear that from him. Whenever he interacted too closely with Morrigan, things got...strange. As he watched, a young man approached Morrigan with an interested look in his eyes, and she gave him a condescending look that sent him scurrying. Alistair almost felt sorry for the lad, having experienced Morrigan's disdain firsthand...but a small part of him was selfishly glad not to have to watch her flirt with someone else.

Zevran was in the middle of the floor, surrounded, as usual, by at least six beautiful young women. They were hanging on his every word as he described some bout of derring-do that no doubt left him standing atop the bodies of his vanquished enemies, hair blowing in the wind. He wore a pale-green tunic and silk shirt similar to Alistair's, but looked far more comfortable than Alistair did.

Alistair and Eamon shook hands with a few more people, and Alistair was engaged in conversation with the Bann of...somewhere, when a vision of loveliness caught his eye. His heart began to pound slightly when he caught sight of her, and when he stopped speaking, the Bann turned to see what had so captured his attention. An understanding smile lit his face, and the man stepped back to allow Alistair to walk forward.

Lyra was coming slowly down the staircase, her eyes lowered, her hands gently lifting her skirt out of the way of her feet. Her cheeks were pink, and flushed with excitement. She wore an off-the-shoulder frothy golden dress and simple, flat black shoes. Her hair was done in a series of gentle curls and braids, and a sparkling tiara sat on her head. Her eyes looked...larger, somehow, and luminous, and her lips were a touch redder than normal. Alistair was enchanted, and hurried forward to offer her his arm.

"You...look..." he said, and language left him. He simply stared.

"Finish that sentence," she whispered. "I feel like a clown." She looked at him appraisingly. "_You_ look wonderful," she said affectionately, and she straightened his collar slightly.

"Hello, Alistair. 'Hello, Leliana. My, but don't you look ravishing.' Why thank you, Alistair. 'Not as beautiful as Lyra, of course.' Of course. I expected no less from you," Leliana said, alternating her pitch to go from high to low as she spoke for both herself and the star-struck Warden, whose eye had still not left Lyra. He darted his eyes over to the bard and began stammering a compliment as Lyra giggled.

"My firebird...you are enchanting," Zevran said, and swept her hand into his to kiss her fingertips. "And Lyra...you are very lovely as well. Alistair is, as always, the luckiest man in the room. I have come to steal at least one of you away so that all the other men may be as jealous of me as they are of him. Who is it to be?" He grinned slyly at the two girls, and Leliana held out her hand as Lyra slipped her hand into the crook of Alistair's elbow. Lyra watched them go, and then looked back at Alistair.

"So...I'm alright?" she said. Alistair looked at her again, and his brain finally formulated a sentence.

"If I had never seen you before tonight, I think I would fall in love with you right here and now, without knowing a single thing about you," Alistair said softly. "You look like a fairy tale princess." Taking a cue from Zevran, he lifted Lyra's hand to his lips and pressed a kiss on her knuckles.

She flushed happily at his compliment, and then looked down, shyly. "Thank you," she murmured. "Leliana did everything."

The rest of the night passed in something like a blur. There was dinner, and dancing, and an endless parade of nobles congratulating them and quietly whispering their support. Eamon invited select groups to meet with him in his office for several minutes at a time, and by the end of the evening, there wasn't a noble in Denerim who didn't know about Loghain and Anora's involvement in the slave trade that had been happening in the Alienage. Eamon was on cloud nine.

Alistair and Lyra stood with the others of Eamon's household in a line, saying goodbye to everyone as they trickled out at the end of the evening. Lyra's hand felt slightly abused, so many times had it been kissed by noble men, and her neck was developing a crick from all of the gracious nodding. The edges of the tiara were pressing unmercifully into the side of her head, and her toes were asleep in the new shoes. Her cheeks ached from smiling, and she turned away from the line momentarily to suck her cheeks inward and stretch her facial muscles. Alistair shifted beside her, and she wondered if his shoes were pinching, as well.

The crowds finally cleared, and Eamon clapped Alistair on the back.

"My boy...we've won," he said, his voice full of quiet pride. "It would take a miracle for Loghain to beat us now. And you, my dear, you are a vision," he said to Lyra. "Isolde tells me that you made quite the impression of your own. Anora has another thing coming...it is good to know that Alistair has such a fine partner. I owe you an apology...whether you can provide an heir for the kingdom or not, it is more than clear to me now that you are exactly what this kingdom needs in a queen. Will you forgive an old, stubborn man?"

Lyra nodded, and hugged Eamon. He returned her embrace warmly, and everyone said their goodnights. Alistair and Lyra went off to bed. Kestrel whuffed a greeting, and stood up and stretched from his place in the corner. He'd been banished to the room all night, and he pushed past her to make his way to the yard. Someone had lit a fire in the fireplace, and the room was cozy.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Lyra yanked the tiara off of her head and tossed it onto the table.

"Thank the Maker..." she sighed, and then kicked off her shoes as well. Alistair chuckled, and pulled his own shoes off and wiggled his toes in relief.

"Why can't we just wear our boots?" he asked.

"Let's make that our first decree," Lyra suggested. "Comfort over fashion." She reached behind her and untied her sash, and Alistair approached and caught her hands up in his own.

"Let me do that," he said softly, and she considered reminding him that he was in the doghouse for his little stunt with the sponges and the whipped cream earlier that day... but then his lips found the spot right under her ear, and she rather abruptly forgave him.

"You were the most beautiful woman in that room tonight," he murmured against her neck. She shivered with delight, and he moved around to the back of the dress, beginning to undo the row of buttons that held it closed in the back.

"And you...every woman there was jealous of me, I could tell," Lyra said. "They all wanted to be on your arm. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world."

"None of them are you," Alistair said. "If this had been a story, and me the prince, needing to choose from every woman in that room tonight, it wouldn't have even been a contest. You're so far above them."

"Bann Alfstanna was beautifully dressed," Lyra said teasingly, and Alistair finished unbuttoning her gown and slid his hands inside the cloth, ending by clasping them together over the skin of her belly.

"Stop talking," Alistair said, and pulled her close against him. She leaned her head back on his shoulder, her eyes drifting closed as he kissed her neck. His hands came up and slipped the dress down her arms, and she pushed it off and tossed it into a nearby chair.

Alistair's eyes widened. "Those are new..." he said, and she looked down at her new underclothing, and then back up with an embarrassed chuckle.

"Isolde had new things made for me...some of them are...sort of fancy," she said, and Alistair let out a shuddering breath.

"Maker, what you do to me," he groaned, and strode forward to capture her in his arms, kissing her hungrily and holding her beautiful, barely-clad body close. She wound her arms around his neck and molded her body against his own, feeling the silk and satin of his tunic and shirt graze her skin. His arms tightened around her, and he leaned her over in a slight dip, sliding one hand down her side to pull one long leg up to curl around him.

"You have too many clothes on," Lyra murmured against his lips when he pulled back slightly, and she bit her lip in a smile of delight to be here with him. He smiled back and rubbed noses, then straightened up and released her. While he unbuttoned his tunic, she put out the lamps in the room, leaving only the firelight for illumination. Alistair began trying to unbutton his sleeves, and cursed softly as she giggled at his struggles. Her deft fingers took over, and a moment later he pulled the shirt over his head. She ran her fingernails lightly over his bare chest, raising goosebumps on his skin. He leaned his head back and groaned slightly, and her fingers trailed down his stomach to the tie that held his pants closed. She eased them open, looking down as she did so, listening to his reactions. She slid her hands into his pants and down his stomach to where his legs joined, and felt the heat that awaited within. Her hands grasped him, and he leaned his head down to touch his forehead to the top of her head, breathing the scent of her hair as her hands brought him to full arousal.

His pants were the next thing to go, and then her breastband, and both of their smallclothes. They stood naked in the darkness, holding each other, feeling the way their bodies fit together. Lyra's fingers stroked the back of Alistair's neck, her nails running through his hair, and Alistair dropped gentle kisses on her shoulders, moving down to her breasts, kissing and touching gently. He straightened and joined his lips to hers again, and then scooped her into his arms and laid her smoothly on the bed. He moved over her, his eyes locked with hers, and she parted her legs around his body.

"Maker, Lyra...you're going to be my wife," he said softly, and she pulled him down to embrace him, the beautiful truth of that statement making her heart flutter with happiness. He held her closely, breathing into her neck, sighing happily as his strong arms around her made her feel more secure than anything. He laid down at her side, facing her, surprising her somewhat by not initiating the act she had been so certain was coming. She turned into him, and they tangled their legs, fitting their bodies as closely as possible in all ways but one. Alistair rested his forehead against hers, and they lay together skin to skin, simply _being_, taking fulfillment in the pleasure of being near.

"You're more than I ever dreamed of," Lyra whispered. Her lips grazed Alistair's lightly, open, her nose brushing his face in soft, detached strokes. He responded with much the same, their faces caressing each other lovingly. She trailed her lashes along his cheek, he brushed his lips along her jawline. It was so very intimate, this quietness, and they may have stayed that way for an hour before their lips finally joined more firmly, tongues seeking entrance, both of them needing a larger sort of joining. Lyra reached down and guided him partially into her, grinding her hips into his, longing for a closeness that wasn't achievable in their current configuration.

Alistair grasped her body and moved the both of them into a more welcoming position, and she brought her legs up around his waist as he slid into her. Her opening was slick with desire, the hour of gentleness more than preparing her for his controlled entry. He sighed to feel her warmth enclosing him, whispering her name, hearing his name whispered in response. Their mouths connected and opened, and their kiss became more heated as their movements increased. Alistair grasped her rear with one hand, pulling her closer, sinking himself deeper, and she reached to meet him, wanting to take him as deeply as possible, to feel them joined as close as they possibly could. Their passion grew, and movement became frenetic, driving toward a breathless climax that depended one upon the other and had them both gasping in completion. He felt her throbbing pulse, she felt his swell and spill. She sobbed his name, the emotional pleasure coupled with the physical in such a way that it made her feel almost like crying, and he groaned in response, his hand threading in her hair and clasping her close as they shuddered in tandem.

The moment passed, and they caught their breath, coming down from the enormous high they had reached as one. Lyra touched Alistair's face wonderingly, and he pressed his lips against hers once again. They slowly disengaged, and arranged themselves, still close, still wishing to remain as joined as possible, and fell asleep, fully spent.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I feel like such an intruder, talking right now._

_"Prank War", a collaboration by The Original Frizzi and I and listed on her stories page, details exactly what happened between the time that Fergus found the water bucket, and Lyra and the others cleaned up the feathers. If you haven't read it yet, go do so, because you really, really want to know what happened with all of that whipped cream they keep talking about. :-)_

_Reviewers? You're awesome. Subscribers? You rock! All readers...I love you. :-)_


	66. The Landsmeet

CHAPTER 64

In the balcony that surrounded the main hall of the royal castle in Denerim, the nobility of Ferelden talked softly amongst themselves, their voices hushed with expectation. Banns and Arls mingled, snatches of conversation revealing their opinions about the two candidates for the throne. Their knights stood quiet guard, a silent showing of support and strength, and in some cases, proof that a certain arl or bann were not as weak as a political opponent might have thought.

Alistair paced in a small antechamber, his face slightly green. Lyra sat on the desk, watching him work out his inner demons, biting her tongue against useless platitudes which she knew would do no good anyway. Alistair stopped pacing and threw himself into a chair and groaned loudly.

"I'm going to be sick," he said, closing his eyes tightly.

"No you're not," Lyra said, and something occurred to her. "Do you remember the Darkspawn battle in Lothering? When I was sure I was going to be violently ill, the first time I felt the effect of the Taint?"

"Why are you bringing this up?" Alistair said, slitting his eyes at her.

"Because you brought me into focus. I was losing control, the Darkspawn Taint threatening to take me over, and you told me to take deep breaths_. _Now I'm telling you the same thing." She moved in front of him and crouched, taking his face in her hands and looking into his frantic eyes.

"Alistair..._breathe_," she said. He tried, Maker bless him. He struggled, and she lifted his chin and forced him to look at her, breathing deeply herself to show him the proper cadence that his airflow should take. He slowly calmed, and some of the frantic fright left his eyes. He set his jaw firmly, and sighed, looking more calm.

"Lyra...I can't do this," he muttered. "I thought I could, but...this is a _nation_ we're talking about. I'm nobody! I'm just an orphan who got sent to the Chantry and then got conscripted. I have no training, no knowledge..."

"You have me," Lyra said, and touched her forehead to his. "And you have Eamon. And Teagan. And Fergus, although he'll be back at Highever. And you have common sense, and wisdom, and compassion. The rest is all details. I _believe_ in you, Alistair. Do you think I would put you on the throne if I thought you couldn't do it?"

He looked at her suspiciously. "You mean this isn't all for the benefit of my fragile ego?"

Lyra threw back her head and laughed. "Don't flatter yourself, my darling. If you were as hopeless as you think, I'd have made sure you never sat the throne, no matter how much you begged, no matter how much I might love you. Ferelden needs a monarch like you." She pulled him to his feet and hugged him closely, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head, her cheek pressed against his ear. Alistair's arms tightened around her, and he took a deep breath.

"If you're wrong about this..." he murmured.

"I'm _never_ wrong," Lyra murmured back. "Keep that in mind, and we'll be fine."

He chuckled, and then she giggled, and they held each other in a silent promise of support, no matter what the future might bring.

The door opened, and Teagan poked his head inside. "Are you ready? Loghain and Anora have arrived, and I think we're about to start." He looked at the two of them expectantly, and Lyra kissed Alistair briefly and smiled encouragingly.

"Let's go win a throne," she whispered, and he smiled a little, fear filling his eyes. He shut them and took another deep breath, and then composed his face into a mask of calm. He straightened his shoulders, and walked sedately out into the main hall. There was a murmur of interest as they entered, and Lyra was glad they had saved their fantastic new armor for this moment. She knew just how good Alistair looked, and she hoped she was fairly impressive as well.

Lyra tried to put a confident look on her face, and smiled at those who met her eyes. Alistair's shoulders were stiff in front of her, but he didn't fall over, which was something to be thankful for. They paused near the center of the room. Across were Loghain and Anora, and Loghain's look could have set fire to a puddle of water. Lyra's stomach heaved, and she felt a little nausea of her own coming on. She stepped up next to Alistair and threaded her fingers through his, and he gripped her hand tightly. Eamon was saying something, and she focused on his words, missing his introductions and coming in as he began the main part of his speech.

"My Lords and Ladies of the Landsmeet...Teyrn Loghain would have us give up our freedoms, our traditions, out of fear! _He_ placed us on this path, yet we should place our destiny in his hands? Must we sacrifice everything good about our nation to save it? There is another option..." Eamon said, his voice carrying through the hall.

"Maric had another son! Most of you have already had the honor of meeting this young man, as well as his future bride, Lady Lyra Cousland. Raised away from the damning influences of Ferelden politics, and possessing of enough honor to become one of those legendary heroes...the Grey Wardens! He was at the battle of Ostagar, and the Maker himself stretched out his hand to protect him when all other Wardens perished in the betrayal perpetrated at Ostagar by Loghain. Alistair Theirin is the hope of this nation, the one who will end the Blight, and the one who should rightfully be seated on the throne! Do you deny this?"

The nobility cheered, and Loghain stepped forward, his hands clapping slowly, armor glinting in the sunlight that streamed through the windows.

"Ah, yes. A beautiful speech. But how true is it? Eamon would have an untried _boy_ placed on the throne. But who is the puppeteer who will pull the strings?" His eyes narrowed as he walked forward, and he raised a hand to point at Lyra.

"Here she is, Lords and Ladies! The stories of their...love..." Loghain's voice dripped with sarcasm over the word "...have reached even my ears. But how true is this feeling they profess? The Couslands were massacred in their estate, and this _woman_ escaped under nearly impossible conditions. How is this possible, I ask you, unless she was in fact _allied_with Rendon Howe? Tell us, Lady Cousland, of how you planned to marry Thomas Howe and rule Highever with his aid! She is nothing but a political climber, a gold-digging harlot who would sell herself to the highest bidder! With the surfacing of this convenient 'lost prince', she lost no time in moving the pieces to seat herself beside him. She had been sharing his bed for months...I ask you, Lords and Ladies, will you allow such a wanton usurper to control a weak, untried boy?"

Lyra gasped, and her cheeks went alternately hot and cold. In the balconies, people began to mumur amongst themselves, and she felt their certain victory slip the tiniest bit.

"Lies! Even now, Loghain shows his colors with these falsehoods!" Eamon shouted. "Lady Cousland escaped from Highever with the aid of the former Commander of the Grey, Duncan, who went to Highever seeking recruits for the Wardens. Howe intended to take Highever for himself - why would he wish to ally himself with Lady Cousland? She escaped with nothing but the clothes on her back, and gave up her title to serve the Warden order, unsure if her brother still lived, and forsaking all ties with her family-"

"Yes, what use are the ties of a Teyrn's daughter, when the privileges of a queen can be had?" Loghain said snidely. "The Grey Wardens have never involved themselves in politics, and now the last _two_Wardens in Ferelden seek to gain control of the throne! Whose interests are being served, I wonder? What is their agenda?" Loghain strode forward, capturing the attention of everyone assembled with his massive, glittering presence. His dark blue eyes were sharp and all-seeing, and his dark hair made an appropriately menacing crown over his craggy face.

"Let us not forget the massacre at Ostagar, Loghain," Eamon's voice rang out. "When the signal was lit in Tower Ishal, your troops _left the battlefield._ Was it not part of the plan that your contingent would be the hammer to the Warden's anvil? You abandoned Cailan and the Wardens on the field...if not for your actions, Cailan would be alive today!"

"Cailan was intent on bringing in troops of chevaliers...it is just as well that he died at Ostagar, and removed his blasphemous presence from the throne. Have we all forgotten the near age-long occupation we suffered under Orlais's thumb? I am not so eager to hand this country back Empress Celene," Loghain said. "And this _Warden_ shows himself sympathetic to Orlais, bringing in a known Orlesian assassin to aid him!" Loghain spun around and looked at Leliana, who sat as still as stone in the balcony with their other companions. "But who is her target, I wonder?"

"Leliana is a talented fighter...but she is no assassin," Zevran said, standing up. "If you wish to speak of assassins, Loghain, allow me to tell everyone of how you hired the Crows to eliminate these Wardens," Zevran help up a roll of vellum. "Should anyone wish to see what I now hold, I shall happily show it to you. It is a contract between Loghain and the Antivan Crows, calling for the death of these two Grey Wardens. Loghain wished to deprive Ferelden of any hope of ever ending the Blight. Is this the man you wish to follow?" Zevran's accent sizzled over the words, and people began murmuring at this. Leliana looked at him admiringly.

"Where did you get that?" she whispered as he sat back down beside her.

"Taliesin's body," he whispered back.

"Let us return to the issue at hand, Lords and Ladies... if you wish to depose Anora, let me ask you, what is your other option? This green boy? Exactly how royal _is__ his blood?_" Loghain asked. "We have nothing but Eamon's word that this is Maric's son. Where is the proof? Allow me to present some proof of my own..." Loghain said. He gestured to the doors, and a guard opened them. A woman in a worn dress, holding the hands of two small children...a toddler, and a boy who looked to be about five, strode into the room. Three more children trailed behind her, ranging in age from approximately seven to twelve.

"What is she doing here?" Alistair muttered, his eyes creasing with concern, and Lyra shrugged, just as mystified as Alistair.

"Allow me to introduce Alistair's sister, Goldanna. My dear, thank you for taking time from your busy day to come here." Loghain said, his voice tender. Goldanna nodded, looking a bit intimidated by her surroundings, and scooped the toddler onto her hip. The tiny girl leaned her head on Goldanna's shoulder and put her fist in her mouth. The other children stood quietly, looking at Loghain in awe.

"Please, my dear...tell us. Is Alistair your brother?" Loghain asked, his voice gentle and cajoling.

"'E is, m'lord. We was separated as children. Our mother was a maid in Arl Eamon's castle, in Redcliffe, and the Arl 'ad 'is way with our mother. She died birthing 'im. My brother was raised like a prince in 'is castle, and I got chucked out, all alone in the world, and now I've got five little'uns-" Goldanna's voice was whining, but Lyra was too distracted by the untruths flowing from her lips. Her heart felt as if it would stop.

"What?" Eamon said, paling. "This is...absolute hogwash! _Maric_ was the boy's father. It's true, his mother was a servant in my employ, but I assure you, Alistair's blood is Theirin!"

"Then why raise him in your house, Eamon?" Loghain said, crossing his arms. "Why take him in? Awfully generous of you to house your sister's husband's bastard child..."

"It was Maric's wish," Eamon said. "He...didn't want to dishonor my sister's memory by bringing an illegitimate child into his home..."

"Convenient," Loghain said to the assembled nobles. "It's all very convenient, isn't it? The way Alistair was never known of until a vacancy for the throne came up. Are we really supposed to believe the word of an old man who obviously fathered a bastard?"

"He looks like Maric!" someone shouted from the balcony.

"Hair color is no indication of genetics. This woman has the same hair color as Alistair, and she's not related to Maric," Loghain said, pointing at Goldanna, who sniffed. In the balcony, Riordan rose to his feet.

"Lords, Ladies...I can offer proof of Alistair's heritage." There was a gasp among the nobility, and Lyra wondered how many more surprises they'd be hearing today.

Loghain's head whipped toward the Orlesian Warden, and his eyes widened and then narrowed.

"An Orlesian spy!" Loghain shouted. "Do not listen! Guards, have this man arrested!"

"This is a Landsmeet, not a circus, Loghain...allow the man to speak," Bann Sighard's put-upon voice said from the balcony, and the other nobles made agreeing noises, looking disapprovingly at Loghain. Loghain threw up his hands, and Riordan's voice echoed through the chamber.

"Alistair's mother...was _not_ a servant at Redcliffe."

"What?" Eamon said in surprise. "But Maric told me -" Alistair was very still, and Lyra gripped his hand in support...a gesture that was apparent to many of the nobles.

"Out of respect for Alistair's mother, Maric agreed to keep the secret of his birth. It is out of this same respect that I will only tell you the necessary details," Riordan said.

"Then my mother...she's alive?" Alistair asked, his voice cracking. Riordan did not deign to answer, but began his story.

"Alistair's mother was a Grey Warden, and knew Maric and Duncan while they traveled together in the Deep Roads on a rescue expedition. Maric's grief over his queen Rowan's death is what spurred his journey with the Wardens...and during that trip, he and Alistair's mother had a brief relationship. She came to Maric during the final weeks of her pregnancy, and bore Alistair in Denerim's castle. Eamon, do you remember Alistair's birth?"

Eamon's brows furrowed. "Yes...it _was_ while I was visiting here in Denerim. But it was one of my servants who gave birth, and subsequently died. That was Goldanna's mother."

"A deception on the part of Maric, my friend. Alistair's mother begged him not to reveal her son's heritage...you see, she was an elven Mage as well as a Grey Warden, and she did not want her son to be brought up with that stigma upon him. Because of the adaptability of the elves, the child of a human-elf dalliance is nearly always fully human, but she could not know whether this would be the case. And, of course, she worried about a child birthed to a Warden, because of the Taint. She only wanted the best for you, my boy," Riordan said, turning to Alistair.

Alistair looked as if he'd been hit with a wet fish. "All my life, I've thought so many different things. When will it end?" he said in a broken voice.

"I am sorry for the deception, Alistair. Arl Eamon," Riordan said, drawing a piece of vellum from his pouch. "The proof of what I say."

Eamon unrolled the vellum and scanned it quickly, and then said, "I will read this aloud, but anyone who would like to look at it more closely may when we have finished. It reads:

_Duncan,_

_Fiona came to Denerim to see me. She gave birth to a healthy boy on the 17th of Matrinalis, and the numbers add up...the boy is my son. I have asked Fiona to stay with me in Denerim, but she has refused, citing her duty to the Wardens as paramount._

_Fiona does not wish the boy to know of his heritage, and I can't help but agree with her. As both an elf and a Mage, this boy could have tremendous difficulty in his life. Cailan is my heir, and as much as I would love to raise this second son as my own I cannot bring an illegitimate child into my house without raising a cry among the nobility, as well as exposing Fiona's secret. I have arranged for the lad to return to Redcliffe with Eamon Guerrin, who believes him to be my child on one of my cooks, whose own child was stillborn. Eamon will keep confidence in this...he does not wish to dishonor the memory of his sister, Rowan, and I have played upon that sympathy._

_Duncan, I entrust this secret to you. We have been friends, and life is uncertain. Tell Fiona that her secret will be safe, and that if she should wish, she will have a home in Denerim. If you should pass through Redcliffe, look in on the boy. I will be watching him from afar, but my place is here, and I cannot risk people finding out about him, so I must needs stay away._

_Fiona has called her son Alistair._

_Your friend,_

_Maric"_

Eamon held up the letter so it could be seen by all. "Maric's signature, and seal, are noted. The letter is genuine."

Eamon passed the vellum to Alistair, who stared at it, a tortured look on his face. His hands trembled, and he touched the seal and the slightly faded ink as he read the words his father had written about his real mother. Lyra slipped an arm around his waist, her heart aching for him.

"You mean, 'e's not my brother?" Goldanna said indignantly. She turned to Loghain. "You promised! You promised me that I'd be well paid for this!"

"Get this woman out of here," Loghain said, and two guards ushered Goldanna and her children from the room as she shouted at Loghain, crying out for her money.

The nobility were murmuring and staring, and Lyra thought Loghain looked like a drowning man. He composed himself, and cleared his throat.

"Do not forget that Alistair has no experience. He may have the blood, but since when do we put a man on the throne simply because of whose bed he was born in? What will he do about Orlais?"

"The Blight is our concern, not phantom enemies. We need to rally against the Horde," Alistair said.

"There is no evidence that this is a Blight. Cailan put too much faith in the Grey Wardens..." Loghain began, but he was cut off.

"No evidence?" someone called from the balcony. "Tell that to the people of Lothering!"

"We've had no end of trouble in Waking Reach," someone else shouted.

"The Darkspawn are everywhere!" a third voice cried. "We _need_ the Wardens!"

"But are Wardens really necessary to end the Blight?" Loghain said. He gestured to his daughter, who stepped forward. She was dressed in a delicate lavender gown, and her honey-blonde hair was done in a neat, conservative chignon. She looked like an angel, and Lyra's heart burned at the thought of what she had tried to do to Alistair.

"Anora has the experience necessary to lead Ferelden, and I can lead her armies! If a Theirin must sit the throne, marry Alistair to Anora, and let our houses join forces. Anora has been the power behind the throne for five years. If you insist on crowning Alistair, allow a woman who has been proven to sit beside him."

"No," Alistair spoke up. "It's too late. I've asked Lyra to marry me already."

"A technicality. She cannot even be twenty years old. She's a child -" Loghain said, and there was a shout from the balcony.

"Lyra is a _Cousland!_ Anora is a commoner!" a woman's voice shouted, and the cry was echoed by several other voices.

"Anora lost her seat when Cailan died! Put royalty on the throne!" someone else shouted. The noise was growing.

"Cousland! Cousland!" Someone else shouted, and Lyra's heart began to skip. The cry was picked up, along with shouts of "Theirin! Theirin!"

"Enough!" Loghain roared, and the assembly quieted. "Lyra Cousland is morally unfit, and Alistair can only benefit by wedding Anora...that is, if Anora could see fit to trust a man who tried to rape her."

"That's a filthy lie," Lyra said in a low, threatening voice, and the assembly grew very quiet, sensing oncoming drama.

"It's true," Anora's piping voice said. "He tore my dress, tried to put _hands_ on me-"

Without warning, Lyra strode forward and drove her fist across Anora's jaw. Anora fell back, a shocked look on her face, and then she screamed shrilly and grabbed at Lyra's hair. The two of them clawed at each other, shrieking obscenities as they swung at each other, and Loghain and Alistair both rushed forward to pull them off of each other.

"Is this what you want in your queen?" Loghain said to the nobles as Alistair tried to corral the still-struggling Lyra.

"Take it back, you icy bitch!" Lyra shouted. She had a long scratch along one cheek, and Alistair wiped at the trickle of blood with his fingers.

"I won't! Alistair should marry ME!" Anora shouted back, her nose bloodied and starting to swell in rainbow colors. Lyra jumped at her again, but Alistair held her back.

"He never touched you!" Lyra shrieked. "You're a conniving, grasping-"

"Go to _hell_!" Anora shouted. "You won't stop me! I'll keep the throne, if I have to lie _and_ murder to do it! I..." her words trailed off, and the nobles gasped. Anora covered her face with her hands, and Loghain looked as if he would fall through the floor at any moment. There was a silence, and then Eamon cleared his throat.

"Shall we put it to a vote?" he said quietly, and one of the nobles stood.

"I'm with the Wardens!" she cried, and several other stood with her.

"I am as well!"

"The Wardens!"

"Let us have Alistair and Lyra!"

"South Reach stands with the Wardens!"

"Waking Sea stands with the Wardens!"

"Dragon's Peak supports the Wardens!"

"The Western Hills throw their lot in with the Wardens!"

"We stand with the Wardens!"

"The Blight is coming, we _need_ the Wardens!"

Alistair and Lyra looked up and around the balcony to see everyone standing, cheering, and crying out for Theirin and Cousland to take the throne. Lyra swallowed, and Alistair's arms tightened slightly around her waist.

"NO!" Loghain roared. "I will not stand for this!" He drew his sword and rushed at Alistair and Lyra. Alistair shoved Lyra away and drew his own sword, bringing it up in time to parry Loghain's wild swing. He shoved Loghain back with a desperate push of his blade, and pulled his shield off of his back, managing to get it in place just in time to block another powerful swing by Loghain.

Loghain backed off, and the two circled each other, looking for openings. In the balcony, people were shouting and crying, and Eamon's voice thundered for them to cease this madness. Alistair rushed forward, his shield at the ready, and he bashed out with it, hoping to catch the warrior with it and knock him back. Loghain batted the shield away, knocking Alistair off balance, and brought his sword down onto Alistair's back. The assembly cried out, but Wade's new armor proved more than capable, and Loghain's blade skidded off the dragon scales.

Alistair recovered himself, and brought his sword around toward Loghain. The blade glimmered with fire and lightning, and Loghain brought his sword up to parry Alistair's swing. The two warriors stepped back again, and Lyra pulled her blade, preparing to join the fight. Alistair caught her movement, and shouted, "Stay back, Lyra!" She hesitated, and then re-sheathed her weapons...this was a fight between Alistair and Loghain now. _If Loghain comes close...I'll murder him,_ she thought darkly, watching Loghain like a hawk.

Alistair rushed Loghain again, and this time he managed to throw him back somewhat with his shield. He pressed the advantage, bashing three more times, and Loghain roared and shoved back with his greatsword, sending Alistair staggering. Loghain rushed forward, and Lyra's heart clenched in fear to see the insane look on Loghain's face as he sprinted toward her fiance. Alistair's eyes went hard, and he brought his shield up to block Loghain's massive blow. Loghain stumbled, and Alistair's blade gleamed in a way of sunlight as it came down...to sever Loghain's head from his neck.

Anora gave a cry and took a step forward, and then her face turned ashen, and she fell to her knees, and then to her elbows, her forehead pressed to the stone.

"That...was for Duncan," Alistair said, his voice unrelenting.

The chamber was silent, and it suddenly occurred to Lyra that everyone was waiting. She stepped forward and made a small motion toward a pair of guards by the doorway. They came forward, and she looked meaningfully at Anora.

"Alistair..." she said quietly, and he looked at her. "Your decree, my liege?" she said quietly.

"Oh..." he said, and looked at Anora, who had been lifted off the floor by the two guards and was being held by each arm. He straightened, and spoke in a commanding voice.

"Anora Theirin, you will be locked in the tower until after the Blight is defeated. Someone has to take this Blight seriously...if Lyra and I should fall in the defeat of the Archdemon, Anora will be queen."

Anora looked up, a slight look of surprise crossing her face. "That is... uncharacteristically wise of you, Alistair," she said.

"Don't let it it around. I've got a reputation. Take her away," he said, and the guards moved off, escorting the former queen to her new prison.

"The Landsmeet has chosen...Alistair Theirin will be our king!" Eamon's voice cried out, and the assembly cheered enthusiastically. Alistair held his hand out to Lyra, who stepped forward to stand beside her betrothed. Her heart swelled to see Alistair standing so straight and tall, and to know that the future of Ferelden was in their hands. She breathed a quick prayer for wisdom, and smiled widely at all those assembled.

"This is where I wake up, usually...or everyone points and laughs because I have no clothes on," he murmured to her, and Lyra giggled.

The hall quieted, and Lyra nudged Alistair's shoulder. He looked at her questioningly.

"Would you address the Landsmeet, my king?" Eamon said, and Alistair jumped.

"Oh! Um...yes." He stepped forward, and Lyra took up a space just behind him, where she could whisper a prompt if necessary.

"I...did not know my father, but from all I've heard, he was a great man, defined by his commitment to protecting this land. I may be Maric's son...but I am also a Grey Warden, and I swore an oath. I swore I would stand and fight the Darkspawn, no matter the cost to myself. I cannot break that oath to wear the crown... my fellow Warden and I must go and face the Blight. But when the Blight is over, we will come back and take up our duties as king and queen. In the interim, I appoint Arl Eamon to be my regent."

"I can do Maric's memory no less honor than you do. I accept, and may the Maker bless your efforts against the Darkspawn," Eamon said eloquently, and Alistair looked at Lyra. She nodded encouragingly, thrilled with how well he was doing, and he turned to face the crowd again.

"Everyone...get ready to march! Let us end this thing...together!" Alistair's voice was a triumphant call to arms, and the nobles cheered lustily for their new king.

* * *

><p><em>AN: Thanks to KnightOfHolyLight, The Original Frizzi, Angelakane, and Berserkians Fury for their reviews! And thanks to DinchtBaby for the lovely note in my inbox - y'all make me a happy author._


	67. A Flicker of Hope

CHAPTER 65

After that, it was easy. And at the same time, things became even more difficult.

Directly after the Landsmeet, Eamon hosted a celebratory event, and over the course of the evening Alistair and Lyra met with each and every noble in the kingdom, listening to concerns, giving opinions, and firming up loyalties. Alistair was particularly sought out and Lyra had her hands full with helping him, taking as much of the burden off of his shoulders as she could. His eyes would begin to take on a glazed, frantic gleam, and then she would step in and wind up the conversation. She eventually began telling people to please submit requests in writing, because there was no way they would remember every single thing they'd been asked that evening, even if it was only supposed to be casual conversation. _The very first thing I'm doing tomorrow is engaging a secretary,_ Lyra thought exhaustedly.

The hour grew late, the nobles drifted back to their homes, and Alistair and Lyra were finally able to go to bed. Lyra fell asleep almost immediately, but Alistair tossed and turned, worrying, unable to drop off. After she began to shift in protest at his frequent movement, he finally threw the covers back and padded out into the hall in his bare feet, and made his way to the small common area in the north wing of the house.

Wynne and Leliana were sitting on a couch, mugs of something hot in their hands.

"Your Majesty," Leliana said with a grand bow of her head.

"Save it, Leli. I can't sleep for worrying," Alistair said, and dropped down onto the couch beside her. Wynne set her cup down and leaned forward.

"You and Lyra will have plenty of help...it won't always be the way it was tonight, my dear," Wynne said reassuringly.

"I hope you're right. If it is, I won't wait for my Calling...I'll go tearing into the Deep Roads this time next year," Alistair said wearily.

"Have you talked with Riordan at all? About your mother, Alistair?" Leliana asked.

"No...but I have the letter my father sent Duncan. It's so strange to me...to think, my mother was a Grey Warden, not a maid. Not only that, she was an elf? And a mage? Maker... I grew up thinking one thing...to have it changed so suddenly is a little...uh..."

"Disconcerting?" Leliana asked, and he nodded agreement.

"But you realize what else it means, don't you?" Leliana asked.

"No. ...What?" Alistair asked, his eyes blank.

"Your mother was a Grey Warden," Leliana said. She waited, and Alistair made a 'yes, continue' gesture with his hands.

"She was a Grey Warden! And she had _you_!" Leliana said excitedly, and Alistair's mouth dropped open.

"Holy Maker, I never thought of that," he said softly. "And I...don't have the Taint. Well, I do, actually, but it's because I'm a Warden, not because I was born with it..." His voice trailed off. "So maybe Lyra and I _can_ have children?" His voice was filled with wonder.

"Anything's possible, don't you think?" Leliana said, her eyes shining. "Lyra will be so happy!"

"She will, won't she," Alistair said, slightly dazed by this new idea. Wynne leaned forward.

"Alistair, may I have a word?" Wynne said. Her normally kind eyes were gleaming with something like wickedness, and Alistair answered absentmindedly, his mind still fixated on the idea that he might actually get to be a father someday.

"Of course - anything for my favoritest Mage ever," he said.

"Now that you and Lyra are in an...intimate relationship, you should learn about where babies really come from."

"Pardon?" Alistair said, his eyes focusing a tiny bit more.

"I know that the Chantry says you dream about your babies, and the good Fade spirits take them out of the Fade and leave them in your arms...but that's not true. Actually, what happens is that when a girl and a boy really love each other-" As she spoke, Alistair came to full realization of what she was saying, and the gamut his expression traveled was comical to behold.

"Andraste's flaming sword! I know where babies come from!" Alistair said, his voice embarrassed and exasperated. Leliana began to giggle madly, and Alistair was extremely glad that Lyra was abed, although Maker knew she would _more_ than appreciate this conversation.

"Do you?" Wynne said innocently. "Do you really?"

"I certainly hope so," Alistair said, flushing a deep red.

"Oh, all right then. Oh, look, you're all red and mottled. How cute!" Wynne said affectionately.

"You did that on purpose, you wicked old woman," Alistair muttered. Leliana snorted, and set her cup down to prevent spills as she continued to shake with laugter. Alistair shot her an annoyed glance.

"Alistair, why would I do such a thing?" Wynne said, her voice all innocence.

"Because. You're...wicked. That frail old lady act? I'm _so_ not fooled. I'm onto you now," Alistair said, and the corners of Wynne's mouth quirked upward. Alistair caught her look and grinned wryly at her, and she smiled back affectionately.

"In all seriousness, Alistair, the two of you should be careful. For all you know, Lyra could already be pregnant, and it wouldn't be safe for her _or_ the child while the Archdemon is still a threat. Maker only knows how much longer the Blight will last, and your duties as Wardens must come first."

"I suppose she _could_ be, but she hasn't said anything about it..." Alistair frowned. "I don't actually know anything about this. How would we tell?"

"Usually there are symptoms. But I can check her in the morning to make certain," Wynne said, and Alistair nodded thoughtfully.

"Maybe that's best. We... thought it was impossible. According to everything I've heard, Wardens can't _get_ pregnant," Alistair said. "And I think it must still be pretty rare. _My_ father _wasn't_ a Warden...it's likely that Lyra and I still won't be able to actually have children at all. But...I dunno. Do you think, maybe, there might be some...magic...that could help? Anything you might be able to do, Wynne? Eamon's worried about an heir. He didn't want Lyra and I to marry because of it."

"I really don't know, Alistair. It's not something I'm familiar with. I can end a pregnancy, and I've served as a midwife... but usually children just happen. I suppose when this is over, I can check the library at the Circle Tower and see what I come up with," Wynne said. "But don't look to magic for the answers. Very little is actually known about the entire thing - there's a reason people look on childbirth as a miracle."

"Hmm," Alistair said. "Alright. It's worth researching anyway..." He scrubbed his hands over his face and over his hair, making it stand on end. "Maker, I need a distraction. Someone tell me a funny story, or something. My mind is so full I can't sleep."

Leliana thought for a moment, and then began to relate a humorous tale.

* * *

><p>The next morning, Alistair dragged Lyra out to the common room where Wynne was waiting.<p>

"Stand here please, Lyra...I'm just going to check you," Wynne said, and Lyra looked at Alistair questioningly. He stood back and watched the Mage, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

"Check me? For what? Wynne, I'm fine..." Lyra said, puzzled. Alistair stood close by, a concerned look on his face, as Wynne hovered her glowing hands over Lyra's body, pausing significantly over her midsection.

Wynne looked at Alistair, and shook her head slightly. Alistair's shoulders drooped a little, but he also looked somewhat relieved.

"What's going on?" Lyra asked, crossing her arms. She looked searchingly at Alistair's face, and he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Wynne thought you might, um...be...pregnant," he finished lamely. Lyra's eyebrows shot up.

"Wardens can't _have_ children, Alistair," she said in a voice that suggested he was, maybe, feeling slow this morning. "Why would she think that?"

"It's a natural concern, especially since the two of you have been together for a few months now," Wynne said.

"It's _not_ natural for Wardens. Nothing much is _natural_ about being a Warden," Lyra said. "I haven't even... Wynne, since I became a Warden, I haven't..." she lowered her voice. "I haven't had _any_ signs of... being a woman... if you know what I mean. My body seems to be in a kind of stasis."

"Ahh...I see," Wynne said, nodding in understanding. "With the news of Alistair's mother yesterday, it occurred to us that there _is_ at least one case of a Grey Warden woman having a child. So, the concern came up."

Lyra looked as though the floor had just fallen out from under her feet. "Oh, Maker..." she whispered, her eyes filled with shock. She turned to Alistair.

"I never thought of that..." she said in a soft voice.

"I didn't either," he said. "But it happened."

"Then it's possible?" she said, and he shrugged.

"I am the _least_ knowledgeable person to ask about any of this," he said, and she threw her arms around him.

"But there's hope...I can live with that," she said softly. His arms went around her, and he squeezed her gently.

"I can, too," he murmured, and kissed her hair. The hope of children was a bright one, indeed.

* * *

><p>Breakfast was spent talking with Riordan, who told them what he suspected about the movement of the horde.<p>

"We know that the Darkspawn have been gathering in the Korcari Wilds, and there are mountain exits out of Orzammar as well. I have been a Warden for nearly thirty years, and my Calling is close upon me...this means that I am at the height of my abilities. I can sense the horde, and the Archdemon, with far more alacrity than either of you will be able to," he told them.

"Do you know where they are? Right now?" Alistair asked eagerly.

"Not precisely. I have impressions from the south, and I don't believe the Archdemon has actually left the Deep Roads yet...that feeling is almost beyond my ability to sense, although it _is_ there. My guess would be that they will march on Redcliffe. And if we are there to draw them... so much the better."

Messengers flew out of Denerim, calling troops to Redcliffe. It had been decided. Redcliffe was at the heart of Ferelden. It was the most defensible area in the entire land, and it was close enough to the Korcari Wilds and Orzammar that it seemed like the likeliest place for the Darkspawn to mount their final campaign. Riordan was keeping tabs on the movements of the Horde, and he agreed that it seemed the most likely outcome.

The day was spent in meetings and councils. Alistair appointed Ser Cauthrien, Loghain's lieutenant, to lead his armies. She was beyond thrilled with the promotion, and pledged her sword to Alistair, there and then.

"The Teyrn was out of his head, sir," she said sadly. "His hatred for Orlais blinded him...I didn't want to see it at first, but then there at the end I was almost afraid of him. Without him, there wouldn't have been a Ferelden to save... I wish he could've seen things more clearly."

"He will be remembered for his great deeds, Ser Cauthrien," Lyra said, and the new war-leader nodded.

It was decided that Lyra and Alistair would take their companions to Redcliffe immediately, and Arl Eamon and his family would take up residence in the Royal Palace, beginning his duty as regent in Alistair's absence. The house was a flurry of activity, and late that night Alistair and Lyra put their traveling packs together. They were planning on leaving early in the morning, to arrive ahead of the armies if possible. Lyra would have liked to take horses, but there weren't enough to spare...most of the ones Eamon had were bred to pull carts, not be ridden cross-country. And, Alistair reminded her, he didn't know how to ride.

Riordan was coming with them, and Alistair was looking forward to getting to chat with the older Warden about Duncan and his parents. There was so much about himself that he didn't know, and he was eager to learn what there was to learn. He looked sadly at the locket with the picture of his mother.

"Is this even her picture, do you think?" Alistair asked, and Lyra peered at it.

"Her hair is covering her ears...I couldn't say. But Alistair, you _do_ look like her. I bet it's really her," Lyra said. Alistair looked at it again, and then peered at his reflection, making a comparison.

"Maybe," he said, turning his face back and forth. "I don't see it."

"Everyone told me I was the image of my mother...I didn't see it, either," Lyra said. She put her arms around his waist and peered at their reflections...there _was_ something vaguely elven about Alistair's face, now that she knew to look for it. His features were a tad finer than most men's, his nose slender, his eyes widely spaced. She kissed his cheek, and cuddled closer to him.

"It explains your natural ability with magic..." Lyra murmured. "Since she was a mage." Alistair nodded thoughtfully.

"And you're...not that tall," she said with a grin. Alistair chuckled.

"Tall enough, though," he said, turning to face her. He only topped her by two or three inches.

"Makes this easy..." she said, and kissed him.

"Not my fault you're freakishly large for a woman," he murmured against her lips, and she smacked his shoulder as he laughed.

* * *

><p>They left early the next morning, headed for Redcliffe.<p>

During the journey, Alistair questioned Riordan about his mother, but Riordan didn't have many details to give. Riordan told him about how Fiona had been at his own Joining, and had been quite young, like Duncan, when she became a Warden.

"Then it's possible she's already gone to her Calling," Alistair said sadly. He pulled the locket from his pouch and opened it for the senior Warden to see.

"Is this...her?" he said hesitantly. Riordan peered at the picture, and then nodded. Alistair smiled a little, and peered at the picture again.

"Duncan mentioned that locket to me. Maric had it made. I suppose he wanted you to have it, Alistair," Riordan said.

They had been on the road two days and were approaching the Brecilian Forest when something occurred to Lyra.

"We should check in with the Dalish, and make sure the messenger we sent got there," she said.

"I would love to see the Dalish again," Leliana said eagerly, and Zevran grinned.

"As would I," the assassin said in scandalous tones, and Leliana rolled her eyes.

"There isn't much time to spare for social visits," Riordan remarked. "The horde is growing...Alistair, can you feel it?"

"Only just," Alistair said, a concentrating look on his face. "It's this...presence, right on the edge of my consciousness. Definitely in the Wilds."

"I can't feel anything," Lyra said, frustrated.

"You are too young," Riordan said.

They found the Dalish late that afternoon, and the clan welcomed them gladly. Lanaya informed them that the Dalish were ready to march, and could be in Redcliffe within the week. They ate dinner that night with the clan in the ring of Aravels, and after dinner Sarel told a story about wraiths that supposedly lived in the forest.

"The Magister Harach brought an army to this forest, led by Alaric, his friend and general, who was a giant of a man...eight feet tall, with muscles as thick as the branches of trees. For Alaric, Harach fashioned a suit of the finest armor, infused it with lyrium and his own blood magic, and named it _Juggernaut_ after the unstoppable giant golems guarding the gates of Minrathous. Thus armed did Alaric win many victories against the Clayne.

"When defeat came, it came from within. Alaric's own lieutenants rose up against him. In a fury, Magister Harach voyaged to the outpost and slew the last three lieutenants. Harach used the last of his own life force to cast a spell of blood magic that bound demons to the bodies of the three dead lieutenants as well as Harach's own lifeless corpse. These bound revenants hid the pieces of the Juggernaut armor. The Juggernaut armor's legend lives on, and more than one brave soul has ventured into the depths of the Brecilian Forest in search, never to return."

All was silent around the fire as the mood from Sarel's story settled

"Creepy," Alistair commented. Sten looked interested, however.

"Ghosts, hiding armor in the woods? I have never seen a spirit," Sten said. "Warden, will you give me your leave to seek this armor?"

"We don't really have time to make a long search, Sten..." Alistair said worriedly. "And it's a legend. I don't think it's really real."

"It's real," Sarel said. "Many times have our hunters returned from outings, speaking of strange visions or uneasy feelings. We could tell you where to look."

"I will go tonight, then. If you plan to stay with the Dalish, there is no need to have me stay and guard the camp," Sten said.

"Sounds like an adventure...I'm game," Oghren said. "We been sittin' on our asses long enough. I'm tired'a doin' nothin'."

"I...shall go as well. I find myself curious about these forest shades," Morrigan said. Kestrel barked eagerly.

"Kestrel, you too?" Lyra asked in surprise. "Are you sure you want to go? I don't..." Kestrel barked urgently, and went to stand by Morrigan, a whine escaping his throat. Lyra sighed, and waved her hand.

"Go, then. Keep Morrigan safe," she said. "But if you get killed by evil things that go bump in the night, I'll never forgive you. Any of you," she added, and Oghren let out a whoop of joy.

"And be back by sunrise," Lyra added. "We're leaving then."

"Yes!" Oghren shouted, more excited than Lyra could believe. "What're we waitin' for? We only got about eight hours til sunrise. Let's go slaughter some ghosts!"

* * *

><p><em>AN: Told you I'd find a way to draw it out. ;-)_

_Reviewers! The Original Frizzi, Berserkians fury, Jaden Anderson, Dreamhare, Pollyanna24 (who, along with bananamonkey86 was one of my first subscribers - thanks!), KnightOfHolyLight, Yuki-sama12, and DarkDevon13. As always, love hearing from folks who are enjoying Teyrn's Daughter. *hugs all around*_


	68. The Coming Darkness

CHAPTER 66

The following morning dawned bright and clear, and everyone was preparing to leave, but there was no sign of the ones who had gone into the forest the night before. Lyra was getting worried, and was just about to try and convince Riordan that they needed to look for their friends... when they came striding into camp. Relief washed over Lyra in waves, and she ran to meet them.

"Thank the Maker you're back. I was worried...how did it go? Did you find the armor?"

"We found it," Sten said, shadows dogging his eyes. "But had I known what we would go through...I might not have chosen to disturb the dead."

"Warden, you shoulda seen him! He was like a demon, fightin' them revenants! And Morrigan - that magic 'a hers is really somethin'. Makes a dwarf feel..._alive_," Oghren said, his eyes gleaming, his voice lowering suggestively.

"Speak no more, dwarf," Morrigan said as she passed by. Oghren looked at Lyra and wiggled his eyebrows, leaning close to confide something.

"She wants me," Oghren said in an undertone.

* * *

><p>They arrived in Redcliffe on the first of Ferventis, and the days were becoming more hot than just merely warm. Ser Perth greeted them gladly, and took them immediately to meet with Piotin Aeducan, who was the leader of King Endrin's armies.<p>

"The dwarves are at your service, Warden Alistair," Piotin said, clapping his hand over his chest.

"Excellent. As soon as a few more leaders arrive, we'll have a war council. The Mages and the Dalish should arrive today or tomorrow, and Cauthrien is marching this way with Denerim's troops," Alistair said.

Things wound down for the night, and after dinner Riordan approached Alistair and Lyra in their room, a worried look on his face.

"The horde...do you feel it?" he asked, his face filled with concern. Alistair concentrated, and then his eyes widened a little.

"They're moving. They're coming out of the Wilds," Alistair said. Lyra tried, but she just couldn't feel them..not at range.

"It seems we got here just in time. You said the other troops would arrive soon?" Riordan began, and then he doubled over, crying out in agony, and Alistair staggered as well. Lyra felt a wave of nausea grip her, and her mind felt as though it was being invaded by a controlling, angry presence...it hissed, and she felt as though tight bands gripped her brain. She fought it desperately, and the feeling faded, leaving a dull ache throbbing between her ears.

"The...archdemon...has emerged," Riordan gritted.

"Maker, that's _foul_," Lyra gasped. She could only imagine what Alistair and Riordan were feeling...she felt twice as bad as she had that morning in Orzammar after Oghren had won her smallclothes in a game of dice.

"What do we do now, Riordan?" Alistair said weakly, his hands on his knees, and Riordan straightened up, a pained expression on his face. He took a deep breath, and seemed to regain control, his dark features smoothing into a semblance of calm.

"We pray, and we watch," he said.

* * *

><p>The other leaders arrived the next day with their troops in tow, and an armed camp sprung up around Redcliffe. Trenches were dug, traps were set, preparations were made for war. A message arrived from Cauthrien - Denerim's troops were less than a day from Redcliffe. Other troops sent messages as well - the banns and arls from around Ferelden were rallying together, and Redcliffe was their goal.<p>

Lyra had managed to mostly block out the feeling of the Archdemon, although it felt as though sibilant whispers caressed her brain from time to time. Alistair claimed to be hearing things, as well, and Riordan's face was a constant mask of struggle. They made plans and sat in war councils all day, and then fell into bed, mentally exhausted. They fell asleep immediately, and then the unthinkable happened.

It must have been past midnight. Lyra and Alistair both awoke suddenly and sat bolt upright, their hearts in their throats. They looked at each other in horror, and then tumbled out of bed and immediately began throwing on clothing, whatever was closest to hand. Alistair's arms got tangled up in his shirt and he swore in frustration, nearly ripping the fabric and then throwing it off completely, remaining bare-chested and barefoot, wearing nothing but breeches. Lyra yanked her tunic into place and just beat him to the door, where they met Riordan.

"The Horde-" Lyra gasped.

"They've changed course-" Alistair said urgently.

"Denerim," Riordan said softly.

"It's stripped bare!" Alistair cried. "The city will be destroyed!"

"They're only a day ahead of us," Riordan said firmly. "We can get there before too much damage is done."

"We need to leave. Now," Alistair said urgently, and Riordan furrowed his brow.

"The armies will need at least a few hours to prepare. Send your messages, and then return here...we must talk," he said, and Alistair nodded and strode down the hall, shouting for his war leaders. Lyra trailed afterward, biting her nails. They had made a terrible, terrible error...one that might mean the lives of thousands. Her stomach was in knots, and it wasn't only the Archdemon's niggling in her brain that made her feel like being violently ill.

Doors opened, heads emerged. Alistair briefed everyone as quickly as possible, and people began to run, preparing commands to leave Redcliffe as soon as possible. Their companions gathered, and pledged to help in whatever way they could.

"We'll leave with you. Are we going now?" Leliana asked.

Alistair shook his head, a frustrated look on his face. "We _might_ go ahead of the army, but Riordan needs to talk with us, first. Stand by, everyone. Get ready to go. We'll start off as soon as we can." Everyone murmured acquiescence, and Alistair and Lyra headed back to Riordan's room. They knocked, and Riordan's voice called for them to enter.

"Are the troops ready to move?" Riordan asked. He was looking at a map on his desk, and Alistair nodded.

"We can leave at sunrise."

"Good," Riordan said. "Don't lose hope. There is yet time. But now...we must talk about the Archdemon." He turned away from his map, and looked appraisingly at Alistair and Lyra, who waited for him to speak.

"Do you know why Grey Wardens are necessary to defeat the Darkspawn?" he asked. Alistair shrugged.

"Isn't it because we can sense them?" Alistair asked, and Lyra nodded.

"If that were all, any well-trained warrior would suffice," Riordan said. "No...it is a bit more complicated than that."

He moved away from the desk and crossed his arms. "The Archdemon...can only be killed by a Grey Warden. You see, if any other strikes the final blow, the Archdemon's soul will leap into the nearest Tainted body - usually, a Darkspawn - and will cause it to mutate into the form of a high dragon...thereby extending it's life into a kind of immortality. But Grey Wardens also carry the Taint." He hesitated, and Lyra's stomach churned.

"Go on," she said. "So a Grey Warden strikes the final blow. Then what?" Riordan drew a deep breath.

"The soul of the Archdemon is drawn into the Tainted body of the Grey Warden...but since we already have souls, the two souls... destroy each other. The Archdemon is defeated."

"And so is the Grey Warden," Lyra whispered, understanding coloring her features. Alistair looked at Riordan in alarm.

"So...the Grey Warden..._dies_..." he whispered. Riordan nodded, and Lyra's hand stole into Alistair's. She refused to look at him, only too well aware of the pain that must be on his own face. She knew it was on her own.

"As the senior Warden, I will attempt to make the final blow myself. I am near my Calling, and it is no hardship for me. But..." he said sadly. "I wish this could be otherwise...I know of your commitments to Ferelden. However, our duty must come first. If I should fail...the responsibility will fall to the two of you."

Lyra nodded woodenly, her heart in her throat. If Riordan should die...it would be one of the two of _them_ who would cease to exist. How could she live without Alistair? He was the other half of her soul...and that soul was crying. She recalled Wynne's words...

_"If you had to make the choice between saving your love, and saving all of Ferelden...how would you choose?" _

Now she was beginning to understand.

_Does the Grey Warden's soul go to the Maker, or is it completely destroyed...sent into oblivion?_ she wondered.

It didn't matter. She knew what she intended...the decision took only seconds, and she was determined not to let Alistair know.

"Get some rest, if you can," Riordan said. "We must leave at sunrise."

Alistair and Lyra slipped out of the room, their hands wound tightly together. As soon as Riordan's door closed, Alistair crushed Lyra against him, and she could feel him shaking.

"Lyra..." he whispered, and she hugged him back, just as frightened as he was.

"Alistair..." she whispered.

They held each other for several moments, and then the slight sound of a throat being cleared brought them out of their embrace. Morrigan stood before them, her arms crossed.

"Lyra...may I have a word?" she said, and Lyra nodded, covertly wiping tears from her face. She squeezed Alistair's hand, and he let her go reluctantly, watching her follow the witch down the hall. He stood unmoving outside Riordan's door, his thoughts whirling, and then he turned resolutely and went to Zevran's room, and knocked.

* * *

><p>Half an hour later, Lyra slipped quietly into the room she shared with Alistair. She set something gently on the table and then padded softly to the window where he stood, looking out at the countryside. He turned suddenly, hearing her, and a look of relief crossed his face. Kestrel raised his head and barked, and she shushed him. He looked at her for another moment, and then yawned and laid down again with a soft <em>whuff<em>.

"Here you are..." Alistair murmured, and drew her into his arms. "I was starting to get worried." He sighed in relief at feeling her again. Her body was stiff, and he drew back, concerned.

"Are you alright?" he said, looking in her eyes.

"We've...just had some rather trying news, don't you agree?" Lyra said softly. Alistair nodded, feeling silly for asking her such a pointless question.

"Alistair..." she said, and he looked at her. She hesitated, and then drew herself out of his arms.

"I've brought this, from the kitchens. Will you drink with me?" she said, and gestured to the table. Two cups and a decanter of red wine sat on the table, and Alistair smiled a little, puzzled.

"You want to...have a drink?" he said, and Lyra nodded.

"To help us sleep, if nothing else," she said, and Alistair watched as Lyra went to the cups and poured. She handed him one, and they raised their glasses silently, then tipped them back.

The wine was warm, and tasted wonderful...Alistair found himself drinking the entire thing, almost before he knew what happened. He felt a flush come over his cheeks, and Lyra gently took the cup from him, along with her own, which was also empty.

The curve of Lyra's hip caught his attention as she moved there in the soft moonlight, and she leaned over the table, her long legs showing most of their length under the tunic. Her graceful hands set the cups on the table, and he felt deep desire rumbling within him as she turned around. She looked at him, and the innocent, loving look on her face brought a flush of heat to his groin.

He went to her, caught her in his arms and pressed his lips to hers with a kind of desperation. She froze slightly, but then responded, opening her mouth and resting her hands lightly on his arms. Her mouth on his sent waves of need racing through him, and his body funneled his desire, hardening him with a speed that was almost crippling. He groaned against her lips, and pressed his body into hers, desperate to feel her.

Alistair didn't notice her hesitation, but plowed forward, blind to everything but his feeling. He reached down and pulled her tunic over her head, leaving her in only her smallclothes. She began to respond more, her own passion coming into play, and he moaned with wanting as he felt her embracing him eagerly, her breasts caressing his chest, her nipples brushing his skin. He shucked his pants and lifted her onto the bed, laying her down and pulling her smallclothes off of her legs as quickly as possible. With little thought for foreplay, he opened her legs and positioned himself, and entered her. The hot wetness that was Lyra was almost enough to end him right there, and he groaned loudly and pressed in deeper, lost in the feeling of joining with her. She sighed underneath him, her legs gripping him gently, urging him deeper, faster. He buried his face in her neck and complied, the excitement building quickly. A few more strokes, and he cried out, shuddering in pleasure, sending emission after emission deep, deep into her body. He moved a few more times, and then exhaustion overcame him, and he rolled to the side. His lids grew heavy, and he fell asleep just a moment later.

She laid in the bed beside him, not moving, staring at the ceiling. Her face was flushed, her nipples turgid and erect. She stayed there for perhaps an hour, and then slowly stood up and drew her tunic over her head. She gathered the cups and the wine and slipped quietly out of the room, being careful not to wake Alistair.

A short while later, Lyra returned, closing the door softly behind her. She looked at her fiance, who was stretched out in the bed, the blanket barely covering his naked body. She smiled a little, and went over to his side of the bed to cover him more securely. Alistair moved slightly at her gentle touch, and then sat up straight, his eyes still mostly closed, and put his arms around her waist and nestled into her.

"Oh Maker, I love you," he murmured, half asleep, and pulled her head close to his to kiss her deeply. She tasted sleep and wine on his breath, and it was sweet and seductive...she found herself kissing him back, feeling more eager as the kiss went on. She reached down to touch him, enjoying the feel of his soft warmth. He was flaccid, but at her touch he began to grow. Alistair woke up a bit more as she stroked him and he sighed responsively, and worked his hands up under her tunic to grasp her breasts.

"You're incredible," he whispered, and began to kiss her neck. "I didn't think I had this in me...and look what you do to me, woman..." he murmured into her skin. Lyra closed her eyes, feeling her heart pick up, and she surrendered herself to the feeling of Alistair's lips and hands. He caressed her body, teasing her skin with his calloused fingers, and she pulled her tunic off and tossed it into the corner. She climbed on top of him and straddled him, lowering herself down to kiss him fully. He moaned and whispered her name, and she felt his fullness at her opening, begging for entry. She worked her body carefully, moving in the way that would cause her to naturally take him in. With a quick motion, he slid into her, and she gasped in pleasure to feel him in his full, pressing her walls back and completing her.

"Lyra...I love you...Maker, I love you more than anything," he said, his eyes rolling back into his head as she began to move their bodies in rhythm.

"Alistair, I love you..." she murmured back. "I'll always, always love you..." They made love gently, their passion growing with a slowness that suited their moods perfectly, and she cried out in pleasure as she felt his orgasm send his essence into her.

* * *

><p>The sky began to lighten, finding Alistair and Lyra twined around each other, legs entangled, arms cradling. A soft tap on the door brought them instantly awake, and they rose and dressed, neither of them saying anything aloud, but communicating volumes with looks and glances. The sun rose, and the armies began the journey back to Denerim.<p>

Alistair sent runners ahead to meet the armies who were still traveling, and they caught up all too soon...the armies had been less than a day from Redcliffe. There was no one who was close to Denerim, and the armies ran as much as they walked, conserving strength, but making the most of every hour of traveling each day. Many had left families in the capitol, and fear gripped everyone. At night, they fell into their bedrolls and slept for five or six hours, and then rose again to continue the forced march. Food was plentiful, and the Wardens weren't the only ones who were grateful...without sleep to sustain them, the army was marching on it's stomach. Lyra was afraid that when they got there, they would have no strength left for the battle... but what choice did they have? Time was ticking down alarmingly fast...she found herself staring at Alistair most of the time, constantly wondering if they were spending their last hours, their last moments together. He watched her, as well, and when night fell they made love on the hard ground, wrapped in their bedroll, uncaring of propriety or who might be watching. The world was ending, and time was short, and precious.

As the days passed, Lyra learned how better to manage the nausea that came with Darkspawn sensing, until it was nothing but a constant ache deep within her body. Nightmares plagued her sleep...she dreamed of death, of blackness, of rot and horror. The Archdemon dogged her rest, and she knew Alistair and Riordan weren't sleeping well, either.

Finally, they arrived, and as they topped the final hill, a lurid red glow met their sights... Denerim was burning. Lyra nearly sagged to the ground...she was so, so tired, and this sight was enough to make her want to beat her fists on the ground and scream at the sky.

"We're too late," Lyra whispered, her heart breaking. Alistair shook his head, and a hard, angry look crossed his face. He strode forward. A small building marked the very edge of the outskirts of Denerim, and he ran up the steps, raising himself up above the army.

"Ferelden...hear me!" he shouted, his voice echoing across the wave of humanity that stretched out before him. Morrigan made a small gesture, and his voice echoed more loudly, reaching the ears of everyone present, though they stretched back for nearly a mile.

"Before us stands the might of the Darkspawn horde...Gaze upon them now! But fear them _not!_" Alistair said, his voice proud and commanding. Lyra straightened her shoulders and went to stand beside him, her heart swelling with pride as he spoke...

Here was the king. Here was her leader. Here was the man she_ knew_ he could be.

If they lived...she would love him forever. If they didn't, she supposed it would turn out much the same. Alistair looked at her with his heart in his eyes, and then turned back to the army.

"The woman beside me is a tower of strength," he began, and Lyra jumped to hear him speaking about _her_. "Lady Lyra Cousland is a native of Ferelden, and her love of this country is as great as your own. She has seen the death of her family, the loss of her home, and she has risen to the ranks of the Grey Wardens! Through it all she has survived, despite the odds! Her will is stronger than the Archdemon, and without her, none of us would be here today. She is _proof_ that glory is within reach of us all!"

Lyra saw Leliana's face shining at her from the crowd. She saw Zevran's admiring eyes, Wynne's loving smile, Morrigan's calm, cold face...but warmer, now. She saw Sten in his armor, polished mirror bright, and beside him, Oghren, leaning on his battle axe, his features fierce and eager for blood. Kestrel nudged his head into her hand, and she set her hand on his head, drawing comfort from the beast. She even saw Fergus, leading the small contingent from Highever, and beside him, Ser Gilmore's ruddy face, smiling at her. A sob caught in her throat.

"Today, we save Denerim," Alistair continued, and stepped down the stairs to stand before the gathered army. "Today, we avenge the death of my brother, King Cailan. But most of all, today we show the Grey Wardens that we remember and _honor_ their sacrifice!" Alistair's hands clenched passionately, and his face was a display of determination.

"For Ferelden! _For the GREY WARDENS!"_ Alistair shouted, and the army began to cheer...and then they sprinted toward Denerim, their hearts set aflame.

* * *

><p><em>AN: The story of how Sten got the Juggernaut armor will be released as a seperate entry. Workin' on it. I have a feeling I might finish this story before I finish that one._

_Thanks to The Original Frizzi, FenZev, Grey-Warden-Queen, KnightOfHolyLight, and Jaden Anderson for reviews. I'll be interested to hear what all of you have to say...but I ask, please, if you think you know what's going on, keep your mouth shut. Don't put it in the reviews. I'm goin' for mystery here. :-) If you'd like to, feel free to PM me...but I'm not telling you anything. ;-)_


	69. The Cost of Victory

CHAPTER 67

The wave of fighters descended on Denerim, shouting for blood. Alistair had already given directives to his generals, and they led their contingents on into the tide of Darkspawn who were waiting, thirsting for their deaths.

It was bloody...so very bloody. But Alistair's speech had inspired them, and the fall of their fellows did little to quell the drive foreward. Blades flashed in the afternoon sun, gore spattered, Darkspawn and men alike fell in swathes. A small part of Lyra's mind feared the possibility that the fighters would contract the taint, and then she nearly laughed at this. It seemed like the least of their worries right now... so many would die today.

Above their heads, the Archdemon shrieked a challenge as it hurtled through the sky, and Lyra felt it calling to her...inviting her to die under it's claws.

Her mind raced in fourteen directions...the troops, the Darkspawn, the Archdemon, the gates of Denerim, the people who had already died, Eamon and Isolde in the palace, Fergus with the small group from Highever...

Alistair...

She swung her sword and decapitated a Genlock, hard determination all over her face.

* * *

><p>"We need to get somewhere high," Riordan panted.<p>

"You plan to draw the Archdemon," Alistair said as they ran through the city. Behind them ran their companions, and Kestrel loped at Lyra's side.

"Yes...the army won't last long. We need to kill it _now,_" Riordan said. He looked up.

"There...the roof of the tower in Fort Drakon. It's the highest point in Denerim...it will be like a beacon when we stand at the top," Riordan said. "As soon as the Archdemon sees us, it will call it's generals to it's aid, and the battle will become much harder."

"Can we kill the generals first?" Alistair asked, his brows creasing. Lyra nodded.

"The three of us should go to Fort Drakon...if all of us are at the top of the tower, then we will make a tempting target. I wouldn't advise splitting up," Riordan said. From behind them, Sten's voice could be heard.

"Tell me where the generals are...I will kill them," the qunari said firmly.

"I'll go with you," Oghren said. Alistair glanced at Zevran, but the elf said nothing... he apparently intended to stay, as Alistair has asked him to.

He nodded. "Sten, Oghren, take a contingent of dwarves, as well as some of Ser Cauthrien's troops, and find the generals. Kill them if you can. We'll be praying for your success."

Sten hesitated, and then held out his hand. Alistair took it slowly, and then pulled the giant man into a hug. Sten was surprised...but he clapped Alistair on the back, and his look was fierce.

"I am ready, Warden," Sten said. "Are you?"

Alistair laughed a little. "I almost didn't think we'd make it this far," he said, his voice joking.

"Didn't you? I did," Sten said, and held out an arm to Lyra, who came forward and embraced him.

"Wardens...you have carried us this far. Do not doubt that." He moved off to wait for Oghren, who sidled up to Lyra's side.

"Well, this is it, Warden. Can't say I didn't have fun, although I never did get that rematch," he grumbled.

"Stay alive, and I'll _give_ you my breastband, Oghren," Lyra said with a small smile.

"Where's the fun in just getting it?" Oghren said, his blunt face cracking in a smile. "Somethin' we say in the Roads... When from the blood of battle, the stone is fed, let the heroes prevail, and the Blighters lie dead. As one of the Blighters... I sodding salute you. Let's show them our hearts...and then, show them _theirs_," Oghren said softly, and moved off to stand beside Sten.

"I shall go with them," Morrigan said. "I can be of assistance...a competent mage will come in handy."

"Morrigan..." Alistair said softly, and then strode forward and gathered her in his arms. She looked as if she could have been knocked over with a feather, but his arms held her tightly, and then she hugged him back, a broken look in her eyes. She drew away after a moment, and her voice was soft as her yellow cat's eyes met his light brown ones.

"Allow me to say only one thing before I go... I knew nothing of friendship before we met, but... I will always consider you such. Live well, my friend...live gloriously."

Then she kissed Alistair full on the mouth, and Lyra's breath stopped. Alistair looked as though he'd been kicked, and Morrigan turned and fled. He stood, dumbfounded for a moment, watching her retreating figure, and then he turned to Lyra, a panicked look in his eye. She smiled slightly in surrender. It wasn't as if she hadn't suspected Morrigan's feelings...and in a few hours, maybe it wouldn't matter anyway.

Making a snap decision, she jogged after Morrigan, who had paused out of sight behind Sten. Riordan was speaking with the qunari - telling him the locations of the generals. Behind her, she could hear Alistair speaking softly with the others...it seemed everyone was saying their farewells.

"Morrigan..." Lyra called, and the witch turned around, a guarded look on her face.

"No goodbye for me?" Lyra said quietly, and Morrigan started in surprise.

"You...are not angry?" Morrigan said. Lyra laughed a little.

"How could I be? Every other woman in Thedas is carrying a torch for him...I got lucky, that he loves me back..." Lyra said. "No, I'm not angry."

"I...I hope you still feel that way, when all of this is over. I would like to think we might have remained friends...but I shall be leaving after the battle. You'll not see me again," Morrigan said. Lyra nodded...she imagined that Morrigan was eager to return to the Wilds.

"Let us part ways now...you go your way, and I go mine," Morrigan said. "But... know that I have always had your best interests at heart...and that I wish you success in the future. All will be well, Lyra," she said, and leaned forward to brush her cheek against the younger girl's.

"All my love, Morrigan...good luck," Lyra said, and walked back to the others.

Wynne was embracing Alistair, and Leliana stepped up to Lyra.

"So this is it...this is the end..." Leliana said, and pulled Lyra into a tight hug. Lyra's throat closed up, and she held her best friend, her sister, close in her arms. Tears began, and she gave up and began to sob noisily, untamping the flow she had been keeping under tight control. Leliana shushed her gently, and Lyra brought herself back into center, locking things down.

"We've come so far...it's strange, knowing that all of our fates will be decided in a matter of hours," Lyra whispered, and Leliana stroked her hair.

"We stand on the precipice, before the greatest battle of our age," Leliana said softly. "I wonder if the heroes of old ever felt like this?"

"You mean, like they're about to die of fright, and can barely see because of the tears?" Lyra sniffled, and a stray sob escaped her throat.

Leliana hugged her more tightly. "I am not afraid...we go to fight for a good cause, and there is nowhere else I would rather be. You are a dear, dear friend...and I will stand with you. Whatever end." She drew back slightly, and looked deeply into Lyra's eyes.

"This day...we will forge a legend of our own," she said passionately, and squeezed Lyra's hands. Lyra hiccupped, and Leliana chuckled and brushed her tears away.

"So sad, my flower? This is not over yet," Zevran said jauntily, and Lyra couldn't help but laugh at his devil-may-care expression. She looked over at Alistair, and their eyes met. Riordan was looking a bit impatient, but she ignored him and ran to Alistair, throwing her arms around him and kissing him desperately, feeling as though this was her last chance to tell him she loved him, before...

"Lyra...promise me something," he whispered, and she shook her head, terribly afraid he might have found her out somehow. They were such a part of each other, how could he not suspect?

"No. No promises. And no goodbyes," she whispered back. "We're going to come through this. Don't you dare say we won't," she said, thinking of the decision she had made.

"We're the heroes..." he said softly.

"And the heroes can't die before the end of the story," she said back, smiling a little.

_But is this the end? _they both wondered sadly, fear and loss coloring their thoughts.

"Come. We must hurry," Riordan said, and they began to run toward Fort Drakon.

* * *

><p>It was a bloody climb through the tower...Darkspawn were everywhere, and with the Archdemon giving them orders they were smarter, faster, deadlier. They fought with strategy, and Lyra and Alistair found their skills being stretched to the limit. Emissaries shot crippling spells, and Alistair brought his templar abilities into play, nullifying their magic before it could become too powerful. Zevran and Leliana were everywhere, cutting the Darkspawn down in swathes, and Kestrel stayed close to Lyra, unusually protective. Wynne continually healed them, and they found a lucky cache of healing and lyrium potions in a room near the top. They paused to catch their breath right before the final room, an observatory, that led up to the roof.<p>

"So close..." Alistair panted, and wiped his forehead. He pulled a piece of jerky out of his pouch and tore it in half, offering it to Lyra. She shook her head, feeling sick. Waves of nausea were coming and going, and she could only assume it meant the coming and going of the Archdemon as it circled the city on the wing. She could sense the Darkspawn, but they no longer affected her...it was just a feeling. The Archdemon was a _presence_, and it was wreaking havoc on her body.

"Ogres in this next room...three of them," Riordan said softly, and Lyra hung her head in exhaustion.

"We shall take one of them," Zevran said, and Leliana nodded.

"Alistair, you and Lyra take another...Wynne, will you support me as I take the third?" Riordan said, and the mage nodded and tossed back a lyrium potion. She sent a wave of healing magic through their bodies, and Lyra felt renewed.

Riordan threw open the doors, and they sprinted inside, shouting their battlecries. Lyra and Alistair chose the one furthest in, and he led with his shield, bashing out. The ogre batted it away, and Alistair staggered backward with the power of the blow. Kestrel barked madly, leaping and jumping and generally getting in the ogre's way, causing it to lose it's temper.

"Look out!" Lyra shouted as the ogre lowered it's massive head to charge. Alistair jumped back, his arms windmilling, and fell to the ground as the ogre trampled forward, horns lowered like an enraged bull. It slammed into the wall and caught itself, horns stuck, and bellowed in anger at it's unexpected imprisonment. She ran toward it and jumped, sinking her blades into it's back. Alistair was right behind her, and he took advantage of the ogre's prone position to decapitate it. It slumped to the ground, and they looked to their companions.

"You take that one, I'll take this one," Lyra said, and she and Alistair went in different directions.

Leliana was baiting their ogre, catcalling to it as Zevran hid in the shadows. It charged, and she tumbled nimbly out of reach. Perhaps the Archdemon had better control of this particular ogre, because it managed to stop mid-charge and swerve around, it's hands scrabbling on the floor to help it gain purchase. Zevran darted from the shadows and cut skillfully with his daggers, hamstringing the huge creature. It tumbled to it's knees, and Lyra swerved away and went to help Riordan and Alistair as Leliana sliced the ogre's throat, sending a gout of blood splashing to the floor.

Riordan was circling the ogre, who leaned down and roared in his face. Wynne sent bolts of magic flying at it, and then she summoned forth an avalanche of stones and rubble that flew across the room and exploded against the ogre's chest. Alistair rushed in with his shield, and Riordan stabbed into the ogre's ribs as it swiped at Alistair. Lyra yelled a challenge and charged forward, her sword gleaming with bright fire and drawing the ogre's attention. Alistair chose that moment to bash his shield against the Ogre's legs, and it swiped at him again, more annoyed than anything else. One giant hand sent Alistair flying against the wall, and his armor slammed into the stones with a sickening _crack_. Wynne rushed over to him and began to apply her magic. Lyra's heart leapt in fear, and then the ogre roared again, and she jumped toward it, pouring all of her rage and fear into the thrust of her blades. They sank deeply into the ogre's chest, and blood splashed and flew as she stabbed again and again, draining it's life away in red rivers. The ogre screamed in frustration, and she felt more than saw Riordan's blade sink into the ogre's ribs again. She plunged her dagger into it's neck, and it crashed to the ground, bringing her with it. The shock of the stone floor was mostly muffled by the ogre's body, and she yanked her blades free and leapt off of the corpse, hurrying over to Alistair.

Wynne was helping him to sit up, and the healer looked quite pale. Kestrel whined at the Warden, and he ruffled the Mabari's ears reassuringly.

"Wynne...here," Lyra said, and clasped the healer's hand. She smiled softly, and shook her head.

"It is already done...he's fine, but I honestly don't know how much more I have in me," she murmured.

"You've done so much already...thank you," Lyra said, and hugged the Mage. Wynne held her for a moment, and then murmured in her ear.

"I am so proud of you. It has been my honor to call you friend," she said softly, and Lyra clasped her tightly.

"No goodbyes, Wynne," she said in a broken voice. "I've said goodbye to too many people already." She kissed Wynne's cheek, and the Mage rocked her gently as they knelt on the floor beside Alistair. Lyra turned to the man she loved and pressed his hand to her cheek.

"You fool," she said, and Alistair chuckled.

"Gave you your opening, though," he said weakly.

"Don't do that again," she said, realizing how useless that statement was.

"I'd promise, but you know I'd be lying," he said, and Riordan called to them.

"Come...the roof," he said, and they rose and sprinted toward the door, following on the heels of the senior Warden.

Riordan threw open the doors, and they ran full out onto the roof, which was...blissfully quiet. Nothing was here, and Riordan strode to the center and shut his eyes.

"What's he doing?" Lyra whispered, and Alistair shrugged.

Seconds later, a roar shook their very bones, and Lyra cried out and fell to the stones, her hands pressed over her ears. It felt as though blood was pouring from them...her head was full of mush, and pressure hammered her eyeballs from the back of her skull.

"Tamp it down!" Alistair shouted in her ear over the roar, and hauled her to her feet. She gasped in pain, and did so, fighting to regain control of her own mind. The Archdemon whispered...

_You will die...all of you will die..._

"No," she whispered, and then she saw Riordan circling the beast.

"He can't hope to fight it alone," Alistair said, and then his eyes lit up. "Look!"

He pointed, and Lyra saw the ballistae around the perimeter of the roof, three of them.

"Come on!" she shouted, and Zevran and Leliana raced toward one, and she and Alistair toward another, Kestrel at their heels. Wynne found a place to duck out of sight, and watched Riordan carefully, planning on healing him if things should go badly.

Lyra loaded a bolt onto the ballista as Alistair wound it back, and then he aimed and released. From opposite corners of the roof, the two ballistae twanged and released, sending bolts as large as old tree branches flying through the air to _thunk_ into the Archdemon's tough hide. It roared in frustration, and Lyra felt another whisper in her mind.

_Kill him...kill the Warden.._.

"Is it talking to you?" Lyra said grimly as she loaded another bolt.

"Yup. Right cheerfully, too," Alistair said, and released the bolt. The Archdemon screamed in pain, and Lyra jerked her head to look at it.

Riordan had managed to climb on top of the huge beast, and raised his sword. Lyra was breathless, and Alistair's hand gripped hers as they watched, hope in their eyes.

The Archdemon curved it's massive head around and snapped at the Warden, and he jammed his sword downward into it's back. The Archdemon jerked, and Riordan slid toward the massive wing. He managed to get a handhold before the Archdemon shot skyward, and Lyra's eyes followed the creature up, and up, and up...

...and then the Archdemon came fluttering back to the roof of the tower, a large rent in it's wing...it could fly no more.

"Where's Riordan?" Lyra said frantically, and Alistair's eyes shut.

"He must have fallen," he murmured, and Lyra's face crumpled. The Archdemon hissed angrily, limping, and Lyra could swear she heard it in her mind again.

_Hopeless...hopeless...come to me...give up..._

Alistair grabbed her by the shoulders and pressed his lips against hers, and then he shoved her back. Zevran's lithe arms caught her, and held on tightly. Lyra saw the look in his eyes, and she began screaming and struggling. She kicked out at Zevran, but he held tight, barely letting her move.

"No! Alistair, no! Please...what are you doing? You're crazy!" she cried, struggling against Zevran, whose arms held her more strongly than she thought the elf capable of.

"Sanest thing I've ever done," he said softly, and drew his sword from his back.

"He cannot live without you, _bella flor_," Zevran whispered in her ear, and she screamed. Kestrel began to howl.

"No! _Alistair!_" she cried, her soul tearing in half. She struggled a bit more, and then sagged against Zevran, all of her strength gone, watching helplessly as the man she would die to protect raced toward the most hellish beast to walk the earth in three ages. Kestrel whined beside her, and she ignored him. The Archdemon's jaws slavered, and it snaked it's head down in a hypnotic pattern. Leliana embraced her as Zevran did, and the three of them dropped to their knees, each preparing for Alistair's end...and if he failed, Lyra's. Lyra trembled and whimpered, and Leliana gripped her hand until her knuckles turned white.

Alistair continued to run, and the Archdemon's head shot out to meet him, jaws open, teeth dripping venom...and then Alistair's sword plunged through the eye and slid up into the dragon's brain. The Archdemon screamed in agony, and bursts of light shot upward, circling the Warden and causing the onlookers to throw their arms up protectively. Lyra forced herself to look, feeling her heart breaking with every second that passed, knowing that he was dying to save her, to save all of Ferelden. Alistair's hands were locked on his sword, and a strange, unearthly hum was growing, piercing the air with sound waves that threatened to deafen all of them. He suddenly let go, and all of them were knocked to the ground as a blast of pure white light shot into the sky. A halo of blue evanescence expanded outward, washing over their bodies, and the tower shook with rage, intent on throwing them off. Zevran threw himself over Leliana and Lyra, and all of them huddled on the stone, letting the storm pass.

All around Denerim, the sound and the light drew attention. Battles paused, Darkspawn and men alike ceased killing each other to watch in fascination as Armageddon itself exploded from the roof of Fort Drakon. The light died, and the Darkspawn lost their will...they staggered, and the men began killing them in droves, chasing them off, kicking their corpses to the ground. It had become a rout.

But at what cost?


	70. A Happy Ending Part 1

_A/N: in the interest of getting this posted, I'm putting it up now. The rest of this is being written, and I think it's nearly done...but that's what I say every time I have a few more hours of work ahead of me. :-)_

CHAPTER 68

The shaking ceased, the light died, and Lyra struggled to get up, pushing Zevran and Leliana away with trembling hands. She staggered as she ran toward Alistair's body, her voice crying in denial...she didn't even hear herself sobbing as she gathered him into her arms. Kestrel padded up to the Warden, his face mournful, and he nudged Alistair's leg pitifully.

His beautiful face was covered in cuts and bruises, and his eyes...his sweet, emotionally transparent eyes...were closed. The eyes that had laughed with her, cried with her, flashed in anger and frustration at her, rolled wryly at her jokes, and made her quiver with passion and love...were peacefully closed...never to open again.

"No..._no_," she whispered, and rocked his body. She kissed his lips, feeling the soft skin, unmoving, unresponsive. Gone. "This isn't happening. You can't die. You_ can't_! You're supposed to live, to rule...it was supposed to be me. It was supposed to be me!" she cried, and her tears dripped onto his face. "You idiot. You..._idiot_! _Why did you do this_!" she screamed, and bent her body over his own, her sobs shaking her, her hands digging into his shoulders. "_Why_..." she whispered into his neck. His skin was still warm...and she clung to that last tactile memory, breathing him in, grateful for these last moments. She would carry them forever.

Leliana's heart was breaking as she watched Lyra mourning Alistair. Zevran looked helplessly at the bard, and Wynne emerged from her hiding spot and ran toward the Wardens.

"He asked me to," Zevran said miserably. "He told me to keep her back."

"And what will happen now, Zevran?" Leliana asked, turning on him. "Anora will take the throne, and she'll execute Lyra. Believe me, I didn't want to see either one of them die...Lyra is like my sister. But if Alistair had lived, true change could have come to Ferelden. Now..." she trailed off.

"We'll smuggle her out of the country," Zevran said. "Get her on a ship...to the Free Marches, maybe. I know of a pirate-"

Leliana sighed and cut him off. Time for ridiculous plans later. "The Archdemon is dead, and Alistair is a hero...and now, our greatest concern is Lyra's mental sanity." She began to walk toward Lyra and Wynne, intent on offering what comfort she could...she imagined that Lyra would be spending the next few months, or even years -Maker forbid- wrapped in a cocoon of despair...she would have to get her to Highever as soon as possible, and after that, who knew?

Suddenly Wynne's eyes flew open wide, and she shoved Lyra out of the way and bent over Alistair's body. Her hands lit up golden, and magic began to pour into the unmoving Warden. Lyra watched in confusion, and Leliana's felt chills race over her as she realized what Wynne was doing.

"She's healing him," she breathed, and began to run toward them, with Zevran beside her.

"But...she can't heal him. He should be dead," Zevran said, his voice jarring as their feet pounded against the stone. "He killed the Archdemon!"

Wynne began to sag with the effort of her attempt, and the glow that suffused Alistair's body faded slightly. Leliana slid into a kneeling position beside her and offered the Mage her hand. Zevran came next, and they both supported Wynne, allowing her to use their strength as she poured healing magic into Alistair's body. Lyra watched, a disbelieving look on her face, and then...

Alistair sat up, a dazed look on his face. His eyes opened, and he looked around.

"Did I kill it?" he said, and Lyra's ragged breathing was the only sound that could be heard.

"You're dead," she said evenly. "You died...you killed the Archdemon, and...you're..."

Alistair looked down at himself, and then at the woman he loved.

"Well...it seems I'm _not_," he said in wry tones, and Lyra dove at him, laughing and crying and nearly causing him to crack his head on the stones. Wynne smiled weakly, not entirely sure how Alistair _could_ still live...but she had sensed his faint heartbeat, and it had taken nearly everything out of her to pull him back from the edge. Leliana pulled a healing potion out of her pouch and offered it to the Mage, who gratefully drank it, and then leaned against the bard's shoulder. Leliana cradled her gently, and Wynne's eyes drifted closed as she dropped off to sleep.

"Denerim is going to be a zoo..." Leliana murmured. "Should we go down there, just yet?"

"I'm for camping," Zevran said with a grin, and they watched the Wardens kissing each other through tears of laughter and joy. Lyra wasn't thinking of anything just yet...she was drowning in the knowledge that they were alive, and that the Archdemon was dead, and that the next thirty years were stretched out before them like a bright ribbon. Nothing else mattered.

* * *

><p>The war was ended, and the city was in shambles...Darkspawn corpses littered the streets, and fires were being put out all over the city. The townspeople who had survived were covered in blood, dirt, and soot, and were piling the corpses into carts to be taken out of the city. Arl Eamon was standing in the town's main square, giving orders and directing operations. His armor was splattered in gore, and his eyes were beyond exhausted...but new life sprang to his face when he saw Lyra and Alistair stumbling through the streets, clinging to each other. Alistair was limping badly, and his arm was draped over Lyra's shoulders. Their Mabari trotted alongside them, tongue lolling, and he barked when he saw Eamon and ran toward him.<p>

"Alistair! Lyra!" Eamon called, and began waving madly, his heart soaring to see his king and queen alive and well. They brightened visibly and hurried their steps. Behind them came Leliana, and Zevran carrying Wynne, whose head rested on his shoulder, deeply asleep.

"The battle ended a few hours ago. It was like the life just went out of the Darkspawn...they grew aimless, and it was a slaughter," Eamon said.

"The Archdemon is dead," Lyra said, and Eamon's face filled with understanding.

"Then the Blight is ended...before it even truly began! You've done marvelously...we can hold your coronation in a few weeks, and the wedding shortly afterward-" Eamon said, but Lyra cut him off.

"Eamon, let's talk later. Alistair's leg is broken...Wynne said so," Lyra said, and Eamon nodded, coming back to the needs of the present. He called to an able-bodied man, and soon Alistair was being led back to the palace. Isolde greeted them joyfully and set them up with a whole wing to themselves, and Alistair suffered himself to be laid in bed. Lyra fussed over him, carefully removing his armor and then her own, and then filled a basin with clean water and began to clean him up, turning the water pinkish brown with dirt and blood. He was almost embarrassed by the careful, gentle attention she was paying to him, but she would hear of nothing else, and he finally gave up and let her minister to him.

Leliana tucked Wynne into bed, and the healer slept for the rest of the night and all of the next day, recovering. Zevran managed to lock down the wing they had sequestered themselves in so that they would be undisturbed by servants or any nosy nobles, and then he headed back out into the city to seek their missing companions.

He returned a few hours later with Sten and Oghren in tow, but Morrigan could not be found. Lyra recalled what she had said about not returning after the battle, and she supposed it was for the best, if it was what the witch wanted.

While Wynne slept, Lyra and Alistair spent the day in their bed, with Lyra taking care of everything the other Warden might need. Lyra was clingy, and barely stopped touching him all day...she held his hand, stroked his face, rested her head on his shoulder. She allowed him to get up only to use the chamberpot, and by the afternoon he was going stir crazy. As much as he liked the attention he began to balk just slightly. She finally invited Leliana and Zevran in to play cards, and Sten and Oghren soon joined them as well.

"You owe me somethin', Warden..." Oghren said suggestively, and Lyra sighed and pulled her arms into her tunic, unknotted her breast band, and threaded her arms back through to hand it to him. Alistair whooped with laughter, and Oghren tucked it into his pouch, grinning.

"I _did_ promise that if you lived, I'd give it to you," Lyra admitted. "What are you going to do with it, anyway?"

"It's a trophy," Oghren said. "Not every dwarf can claim to have the breastband of a noblewoman...'specially not the queen of Ferelden." He grinned slyly. "Good thing I did, bringin' the two a you together."

"Yes...good thing," Alistair said, and smiled lovingly at Lyra, who sat herself beside him and put her arms around his chest.

"Do you suppose Eamon had our things brought here from his estate?" Lyra mused, wondering if any of her spare underclothing were available.

"I hope so," Alistair said. "I want you to wear that gold dress for our coronation." He kissed her nose, and she smiled in delight.

Wynne awoke the next morning, and after a big breakfast for everyone, she healed Alistair's leg, much to his relief. He sprang out of bed, and Wynne chuckled.

"Normally I would council bed rest, but you've been on your back for a day now," she said as Alistair did jumping jacks. "I think you're fine to get right to work."

"Awww..." Alistair said. "You mean I've got to do things like govern, now?"

"That's the idea," Wynne said, and he sighed in a very-put-upon way.

"I was hoping the Archdemon would just kill me, and I could get out of this whole ruling the country thing," he said, and Lyra punched him lightly in the gut, and he pretended to be hurt.

"Don't even joke about that," she said. "You don't know how I felt when you were dead. If you ever do that again, I'll kill you."

"Noted. I'll do my best not to die more often than necessary," he said, amused, and turned to Wynne. "Seriously...why am I alive? Riordan _said_ that the Warden who strikes the final blow was destroyed along with the Archdemon. I can't figure it."

"I can't, either," Wynne said. "I would suspect powerful magic, but there weren't any spells cast...were there?" She looked hard at Lyra and Alistair.

"Where is Morrigan?"

Alistair shrugged, and Lyra spoke up. "She told me she was leaving after the battle."

"Did she say anything else?" Wynne persisted, and Lyra tried to remember.

"She...said that she had my best interests at heart, and that she hoped that we would still be friends after it was all over." She paused. "She didn't say anything about any magic."

"I seem to recall..." Wynne said, and her brow furrowed. "Let me think on this, Wardens. Something is tickling my brain, and I need to meditate on it. Perhaps I'll send a message to Irving..." she murmured, and left the room.

"Come on," Alistair said excitedly. "Let's go do something."

"Like what?" Lyra laughed.

"_Anything_," Alistair groaned. "I need to be outside, to look at something other than these walls! I'm going crazy!" Lyra continued to laugh at his pained expression, and Kestrel jumped up on him, barking delightedly.

"Fine. Let's...find...something to do," Lyra said, and Alistair whooped with joy. They dressed, and hurried downstairs.

* * *

><p>The dwarven troops left the next day, along with the Dalish and the Mages. Alistair thanked them profusely for their help, and Lyra promised they would visit soon...they were planning a tour of the kingdom after they were married, although Lyra wondered how much more of Ferelden was left for her to see. It would be different this time, though...there would be less fighting and more leisure time to actually enjoy traveling. There might even be pillows.<p>

Denerim was destroyed, but over the next weeks the townspeople put their noses to the grindstone and set about cleaning up and rebuilding. Alistair and Lyra made appearances all over town, making note of who needed the most help, what was destroyed, and promising aid and funding. The first thing that Lyra did when they returned from their first trip through town was meet with the treasurer, who brought her up to speed on the kingdom's financial state. Things weren't bad, but they were a long way off from having the money to repair everything the Blight had torn asunder...she pursed her lips, and then quietly arranged an expedition to the dragon's cave to bring every bit of treasure back to help rebuild. Leliana and Zevran volunteered to lead it, and they set out the next day with carts and willing workers.

"Don't get married without me," Leliana warned her as they started out. "I don't trust anyone else to do your hair!" Lyra grinned, and hugged Leliana goodbye, promising not to marry Alistair until they got back.

The clean up of Denerim continued. The casualty rate had not been as extensive as they had feared...it seemed that most of the citizens of Denerim had been able to keep themselves hidden in cellars or behind well-barred doors, although the Darkspawn had killed at least a few hundred people by smoking them out of their homes. A mass funeral was held, and a memorial was erected in the town square, listing the names of those innocents who had died. Lyra cuddled close under Alistair's arm as the service was read, thinking that perhaps some tribute to Riordan should be erected in the town, as well...or perhaps somewhere near Fort Drakon.

Eamon approached Alistair about a week after the battle, and asked what he intended to do about Anora, who was still cloistered in the tower.

"Damn, I forgot about her," Alistair sighed. "Can we send her away somewhere?"

"It's not a good idea, Alistair..." Eamon said. "She could start an uprising against you."

"Have her executed," Lyra said, her eyes flashing with remembered anger. "The bitch deserves to die."

"Lyra, that is _not_ attractive," Alistair said easily, a small grin coming to his face as he remembered Lyra decking Anora in the Landsmeet. "You've got a hell of a temper, my dear."

"Eamon's right, though. As long as she's alive, she can stir rebellion in Loghain's name," Lyra argued. "And we can't keep her in the tower forever."

Alistair shifted uncomfortably. "Well...what about fealty? If she won't swear fealty to me, than I'll have her executed. Is that fair?"

"Extremely, Alistair," Eamon said approvingly, and Lyra twisted her lip. She tried to see reason, knowing that the only reason she really wanted Anora dead was because of her treatment of Alistair. There wasn't much the woman could possibly do to get back on her good side.

Anora agreed to swear fealty, and Eamon arranged it to coincide with Alistair's crowning, which was when all of the nobles would be swearing fealty. She remained in the tower until then, however...she was treated well, and had every comfort. She wasn't suffering.

"She'll go to Gwaren when this is done," Alistair said. "The land was granted to Loghain and his heirs, and I won't take it away. As long as Anora stays in line, she can stay in her half of the country and I'll stay in mine."

A few more weeks went by, and Leliana and Zevran returned. They reported that the town of Haven had been abandoned, and the cave had been undisturbed. They had brought back everything, and the cave was empty now. Lyra had another meeting with the treasurer, whose eyes popped out of his head when he saw the wealth brought back. His hands fairly shook with glee as he unlocked the vault, and a crew began to bring everything inside. Lyra quietly asked Wynne about an amnesia spell, and Wynne agreed to take care of the workers when everything was done. They remembered only that they had done a great service to the crown, and were paid well for their efforts.

* * *

><p><em>AN: YAY! He's alive! Did I fool you? A little? What can I say, I'm a bad, bad woman. :-D_

_Thanks to all my reviewers, subscribers, readers, lurkers, and the people who deliver pizza. And now, back to finishing the REST of this story... *tap tap tap on the keyboard*_


	71. A Happy Ending Part 2

CHAPTER 69

"I'm going to be sick," Alistair moaned.

"Oh for Maker's sake, not this again," Lyra said, exasperated. It was the morning of Alistair's coronation, and he was dressed in a fantastic suit of golden armor with a dragon emblazoned on the front. A white silk cape flowed from his shoulders with the symbol of the Theirins stitched onto the back, and Duncan's shield had been battered and polished back into perfect shape, the Grey Warden griffin gleaming in the sunlight.

"You've been acting the king for weeks, Alistair...things won't be different after today. Today it just becomes official." She kissed his nose. "What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing, I guess," he said quietly. "I wish they were crowning you, too. That's a lot of eyes on me up there."

"They're crowning me at the wedding," Lyra reminded him. "Personally, I thought we should get married first, and then hold the coronation, but I was voted down on that one."

"Eamon, and tradition, or some such nonsense," Alistair said, taking her hands in his own. "Oh well... In two more weeks, we'll be married," he said with a grin, leaning his forehead on hers, and she smiled blissfully at the words.

"_That_ will be the happiest day of my life," she affirmed, and kissed him.

In the end, Alistair was worried over nothing. The ceremony went off without a hitch, and every noble in Denerim pledged fealty to their new king - including Anora. Lyra privately planned on asking Alistair to send guards back to Gwaren with her, to monitor her activities. Afterward, there was a parade through the town, and Denerim cheered lustily as Alistair walked and waved and smiled with his retinue behind him. Lyra walked beside him, dressed in a soft pink gown. A crown of pink roses wreathed her hair, and her hand was tucked into his elbow. Leliana had done her hair again, and in her pink dress Alistair had pronounced her a veritable princess.

They settled into a routine after that, and Alistair took to ruling better than anyone had expected...he was eager to learn the ropes, and Eamon coached him every day in law and governance. Lyra sat in as much as she could, but she was called away often for dress fittings and plans for the wedding that was fast approaching. Isolde was in her element, and the main hall of the castle was being overhauled for the event.

The morning of the wedding dawned bright and beautiful, and Lyra rose from her bed, incredibly excited. At Leliana's insistance, she and Alistair had slept apart for the last week, exchanging chaste kisses before bedtime and looking at each other longingly before the doors closed. Lyra sat at the vanity table and began to brush her hair and lay out her jewels.

Leliana appeared shortly, carrying breakfast on a tray. "No seeing Alistair today...not until the ceremony," she said in a sing-song voice, and Lyra rolled her eyes and dug into the food. Her appetite had not decreased, and if anything seemed as if it had grown a little. She finished breakfast, and Leliana was starting on her hair when Lyra's stomach clenched oddly. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, and she pulled in a deep breath. She hadn't felt that way since...

"Leliana!" she said urgently, and lurched to her feet and ran for her weapons. "There are Darkspawn in the castle!"

"What?" Leliana asked, puzzled. "Of course there aren't. Why would you think that?"

"Because... I-" she closed her eyes, appearing to be concentrating, and then she dropped her sword with a _clang_ and sprinted to the chamberpot, where she noisily lost her breakfast. Leliana was beside her in an instant, and then fetched a cloth dampened from the basin to wipe Lyra's face with.

"I get nauseous when I sense Darkspawn," Lyra said weakly when she had finished, and blotted her mouth, and then accepted the cup of water Leliana handed her. She eased herself off of her knees and sat on the floor, swishing out her mouth and spitting, and then sipping slowly. The queasy feeling passed, and her brows furrowed.

"It's strange, though..." she murmured.

"What is?" Leliana asked, concern on her face.

"It's gone now. I was always able to control it before...I mean, I would feel it, but it never actually made me get sick..."

"Maybe it was something you ate? I can almost guarantee you, there aren't any Darkspawn in the castle," Leliana said, and Lyra shrugged.

"Well, it's passed now," she said, and stood up, then knelt again as another wave overcame her.

"Should I get Wynne?" Leliana asked worriedly when Lyra had finished, and Lyra nodded weakly.

"Maybe that's best," she said, and leaned her head back against the wall. Of all the days to have the stomach flu.

Wynne arrived shortly. Lyra had moved to the bed and was sitting quietly, sipping a little more water.

"When did it start?" Wynne asked professionally, and her hands began to glow as she scanned Lyra's body.

"Just a little while ago. I ate breakfast, and then it just...came over me," Lyra said. Wynne's hands paused as they hovered near her stomach, her eyes closed as she sensed what the problem might be. The glow faded from her hands, and she looked at Lyra in wonder.

"My dear...you are not sick. You are expecting," Wynne said softly, a smile spreading over her face, and Lyra's eyes flew open wide. She looked down at her belly, and then back up at the Mage.

"You mean, I'm..." Goosebumps raised on her skin, and her heart began to race. Wynne's face broke out in a wide smile, and she chuckled.

"I _told_ you," she scolded, and made Lyra lay back on the bed, her hands beginning to glow again. She drew Lyra's tunic upward to reveal her belly, and Leliana gripped Lyra's hands excitedly, her eyes shining. She looked as if she wanted to squeal aloud, and Lyra felt her head spinning.

"Get Alistair," she said weakly.

"You're not supposed to see him-"

"Get him, Leli!" Lyra cried, and Leliana jumped up and ran from the room. Wynne chuckled, and began to press her glowing hands lightly on Lyra's abdomen.

"You're about six weeks along," Wynne said. "Let me think...that would put the date of conception at...2nd Justinian." Lyra's brows furrowed as she tried to think back six weeks. She and Alistair had always had a healthy sex life, so it wasn't as if one particular date stood out in her mind. She voiced another protest, still having trouble believing the truth of what Wynne said.

"But, Wardens can't-"

"Believe me, my dear, I can tell - Warden or no, you're very firmly pregnant," Wynne said, her eyes sparkling. Lyra shook her head, having trouble thinking. Even after the news of Alistair's mother, she hadn't really believed it might be possible...not with both of them being Wardens.

Alistair came running through the door and to Lyra's side. "What is it? Leliana told me it was an emergency..." He was dressed in his shirt and pants, but his sleeves were undone and his shirt was untucked, and he was barefoot. He picked up Lyra's hand and looked at her with concern. Lyra opened her mouth, and then shut it again, embarrassed, and looked at Wynne.

"Alistair...you are going to be a father," Wynne said softly.

Alistair's eyes opened wide, and then he pulled back, a look of 'ha, ha, you've had your laugh' on his face, and then Lyra gripped his hand harder. His brows furrowed in confusion as he focused on his bride-to-be.

"It's true," Lyra whispered. "I'm...pregnant." She laughed a little, and Alistair's eyes grew incredulous.

"But-" he said, looking at Wynne, who began to chuckle at the look on his face. Alistair looked rather as if he'd just seen another Archdemon.

"I just went through this with Lyra," Wynne said with mirth. "Believe me...it's true. She's six weeks along."

"Six weeks..." Alistair said weakly. He lowered himself down onto the bed beside Lyra, continuing to hold her fingers in his. He ran a hand over his hair.

"She'll deliver in Drakonis...I can figure the day more closely as it approaches," Wynne said, doing a quick mental calculation. "These things are never certain, but knowing the conception date helps."

"The conception date?" Alistair asked, looking dazed.

"2nd Justinian."

"Ah..." he said, and then his brows furrowed, remembering. "That was the day the horde changed course for Denerim...the night we woke everyone up."

Lyra blushed, thinking of the way they had made love until dawn, getting in only about an hour of sleep before waking up and marching all day.

"Yes...it was the night that Riordan told us about the Archdemon, and the reason why there are Grey Wardens," she said softly. Her hand gripped Alistair's more closely, and she kissed his knuckle, her mood marred by the memory of his near death.

"That still bothers me," Wynne said, frowning. "I heard back from Irving...he said he used to have a book that discussed some theory about the Archdemon, but he never found it again after Uldred and the abominations. I suppose it was destroyed..." she stepped away, still thinking.

Alistair thought of something. "What was it Morrigan wanted to talk to you about that night, Lyra? You never told me," he said, and stroked his fingers along her cheek.

"Oh, it was silly, really. She told me she'd overheard our conversation with Riordan, and said that she thought we might need help sleeping, so she gave me a potion to drink."

"Oh. Is _that_ why you brought the wine," Alistair said, and grinned. "Sneaky. And here I thought you were being romantic."

"Wine?" Lyra said, her brows creasing. "What are you talking about?"

"You know...you came back from talking with Morrigan, and we had a drink, and then..." he tilted his head from side to side, a suggestive look on his face.

"No..." Lyra shook her head, puzzled. "I drank the potion in Morrigan's room, and then I came back to our room. You were asleep and I ended up waking you."

"That's definitely not what happened," Alistair said, his own brows creasing. "You came in, we...did, and then later on, we...did, again."

Leliana and Wynne were listening quietly, and Wynne had a hard, inquisitive look on her face as they spoke.

"Alistair, we made love only once that night. I remember-"

"No, it was twice. _I_ remember."

"Why would you remember differently?" Leliana interrupted.

"More importantly, what was in the bottle that Lyra drank?" Wynne said.

Leliana's eyes widened. "And the wine..." she breathed.

"Start from the beginning. I need to know what you both remember," Wynne said. Haltingly, their faces flushing red, Lyra and Alistair detailed what had gone that night, each from their own perspective. Lyra was alarmed as she heard Alistair speaking...his account didn't come close to matching up with hers. It was like a whole chunk of her night was missing. She told her story next, and Alistair's face grew perterbed as well.

"What does this mean?" Alistair muttered.

Wynne nodded to herself. "This is conjecture, but I believe we can put it together...Morrigan is the key to all of this. She called Lyra away, and that is when your stories begin to differ. Do you remember when Morrigan healed Kestrel of the Taint?"

"Of course," Lyra said. "I was very grateful."

"Let us assume for a moment that Morrigan could use this same formula to suppress the Taint in Wardens...not remove it, but suppress it, perhaps long enough for a fertility spell to take hold?"

Lyra's eyes widened. It made sense!

"But what about the disconnect in our stories?" Alistair demanded. "Why should I remember two...instances, and Lyra only one?"

Wynne ignored him, musing on another point. "Where did Morrigan learn this knowledge, I wonder? Do you suppose it was in Flemeth's books? The three black books we retrieved from the Wilds the day Lyra killed Flemeth?"

"Perhaps. She had another one as well," Leliana said. "I...well, I took it from the Mage's tower. It looked just like the others-"

"Oh dear Maker," Wynne gasped. "A black book? You_ stole_ the book from Irving's office?"

"Well, yes," Leliana said uncomfortably. "But we thought it looked like something Morrigan could use..."

"It's all coming back now...Maker, I don't know why I didn't see it before," Wynne said, her voice faint. "That book was a tome of very, very powerful, old magic...but it was encoded. It wasn't even really readable, except for a small part of it. Morrigan must have been able to decode it with the aid of Flemeth's grimoires..."

"What was the small part about?" Alistair asked, his voice wary.

Wynne's brows furrowed. "I'm trying to recall...there was talk of an old god, and the way it-" she cut off, her face paling. They waited tensely for her to finish. "And the way it's spirit could be summoned into the body of a human being. A ritual...between a Grey Warden, and a knowledgeable witch," she finished.

"What kind of ritual?" Alistair asked suspiciously.

Lyra remembered her own words to him... _"She's not going to kill you, she told me so. She needs you for something...but she won't tell me what it is."_

_"She needs me for something? Oh, great. Fan-bloody-tastic. She'll probably use me in some dark ritual while I'm sleeping."_

And Morrigan's words... _"I have been given a duty by my mother that I do not find at all tasteful. It involves Alistair. But the man is incorrigible, and the thought that I must perform this duty is beyond my ability to tolerate."_

_"It can't be that you have to kill him, because you'd have done it already."_

_"As I said, you would not understand."_

"What were the details of the ritual, Wynne?" she said weakly. She had a feeling she knew.

Wynne's mouth twisted. "I do not rememeber specifics...but the Grey Warden had to...impregnate...the witch."

"What?" Alistair yelped. "That's crazy!"

"That's black magic, young man," Wynne said sternly. "And now I think the rest of the puzzle is falling into place..."

She detailed her theory. Morrigan had drugged Lyra to somehow make her forget the next few hours, and meanwhile, she had glamoured herself to take on Lyra's appearance, going next to Alistair, drugging him as well, then having her way with him. Alistair went vaguely green upon hearing this. Wynne continued - after Morrigan had left, Lyra had returned, and their subsequent activity had conceived a child.

"But it still doesn't answer the question of fertility," Lyra insisted.

Wynne shrugged. "Who says the drug she gave you was only to make you forget? She could have made sure you would conceive, and she could have made sure Alistair would make it happen - for the both of you."

Alistair dropped his head into his hands. "I always wanted to be a father...but this is _insane_," he murmured, his voice breaking.

Lyra remembered Morrigan's kiss right before they had separated on the day of the battle. Her mind conjured the next image without much difficulty, and she swallowed as she tried to blot it from her mind. Morrigan and Alistair...being intimate. Even if the witch had worn her own face, it made her shudder. She refused to apply the term _making love_ to it...it had been sex, pure and simple, like animals rutting for the sake of continuing the species. And from Alistair's description, it sounded as if he had been drugged to ensure he would take her quickly and sleep soundly afterward. _Thank the Maker for Grey Warden stamina, _she thought wryly, and yanked her thoughts firmly back on track. "But what does this have to do with the old god?" Lyra asked, her voice strained.

Wynne continued. "This is where it gets interesting. Upon the death of the Archdemon, rather than the Archdemon's soul being drawn into Alistair and destroying him, I believe it was drawn into Morrigan, into the spark of life within her. If I'm right, Morrigan will birth an old god in Drakonis, on the same day as you, Lyra."

"Are you sure it's not...me?" Lyra asked, almost afraid, but _needing_ to know the answer.

"Your child is perfectly normal...I can tell, my dear," Wynne said reassuringly. "And if all Morrigan had desired was the birth of an old god, why go to the trouble of doing what she did? She could have ensured _you_ would carry the child...no. I think Morrigan wanted this particular child for herself."

Alistair groaned again, rising to his feet to pace back and forth. "I thought we could just settle down to a nice, quiet kingdom, without trouble, without Darkspawn, without...witchy, strange...weird...Maker! What are we supposed to do about this?"

"Nothing," Lyra said firmly, and all heads swiveled to look at her.

"What do you mean, nothing?" Alistair cried. "What if she comes after us? What if it's born another Archdemon, but this time it's in human form? What if-"

"What if you had _died_ that day, Alistair?" Lyra shot back. "What if Morrigan had not done this? She saved your life!"

"I..." Alistair said weakly, and dropped back down on the bed.

"And for that, I bless her...a thousand times," Lyra said with feeling. She took Alistair's hand and pressed it to her face. "If you had truly been dead...it wouldn't have been an hour before I'd have joined you," she murmured, and his brow creased in pain.

"Don't talk like that-"

"Don't tell me you wouldn't have been just as tempted. I'll call you a liar and not regret it," Lyra said.

He was forced to admit that she was right...they were two halves of a whole, greater than the sum of their parts.

"And now she's given us this gift, as well...she's giving us a family," Lyra said, and Alistair's hand tightened on her own. He nodded, slowly.

* * *

><p>The music began, and Lyra took Fergus' arm.<p>

"Are you ready?" he murmured.

She nodded, an eager smile gracing her face. "Thank you for this, Fergus," she whispered as they began the slow procession down the aisle.

"Father's not here...it falls naturally to me," he whispered back. "I was going to ask if you _really_ wanted to go through with it...but it's the most obvious thing about you, Ly. You love him?"

"More than anything," Lyra said softly, and then thought of their small miracle. _Almost anything,_ she thought delightedly to herself. They had agreed to keep it a secret for today...next month was soon enough to spread the news.

"It shows," Fergus said. "You're glowing."

Lyra began to snicker. She pulled her laughter back in and composed her face, lest she look less than a queen before all of the nobles.

The hall was beautiful...fresh flowers were festooned from the ceiling in garlands at least a hundred feet long, and every window in the hall was thrown open, allowing sunlight to pour into the room. Theirin and Cousland colors were draped decoratively around the chamber as well, and the whole air was festive and bright.

The music swelled, and the nobles rose from their seats, bowing as she and Fergus passed. A sea of faces smiled at her, and she smiled back, her heart pounding with excitement. Isolde smiled gently, and Conor waved at her, excited...he was dressed in robes cut to fit his small frame, and she saw First Enchanter Irving standing close to the boy. On the other side, their traveling companions stood together... Wynne, Leliana, Sten, Zevran, and Oghren, and Kestrel as well. All had happy smiles on their faces. Ser Gilmore bowed to her, and she smiled at her childhood friend...a pretty lass stood at his side, her hand clasped with his, and she wondered who it might be. At the end of the aisle, atop the stairs, stood Alistair...and he was glowing, as well. His face was radiant with happiness, and he looked as if he might burst with excitement.

Alistair's heart was racing as he looked at Lyra...she was wearing _something_ white, he was pretty sure, and her hair was beautiful...Leliana always did beautiful work. But he was more focused on the fact that she was walking toward him, looking incredibly happy and excited. Her eyes were sparkling, and she simply took his breath away.

They reached the bottom of the steps, and Fergus let Lyra go, standing at the bottom of the stair as she made her way up to stand before Alistair.

"Hi," he whispered, and she giggled nervously.

"Hi," she whispered back.

The Revered Mother began to speak, and they tried to focus on the ceremony. It was simple...similar to the wedding they had witnessed in Redcliffe on Summerday, but dressed up to make it seem fancier than what it was...a ceremony intended to bind two people's lives together in the eyes of the Maker. Alistair knew that even if he'd been standing here with someone else, he was already bound to Lyra, and the rest was just details.

In the crowd, Oghren began sniffling.

"Oghren...are you crying?" Wynne murmured, and the dwarf shook his head.

"Somethin' in my eye..." he muttered.

"Who gives this woman to be wed?" the Revered Mother said.

"Highever gives this woman," Fergus said proudly, and stepped up the stairs to stand on Lyra's right, in the place where Bryce would have stood if he had lived to see her get married. Opposite him stood Arl Eamon...the representative for Alistair, in the place where Maric would have stood if he were alive.

The Revered Mother gave them a goblet to sip from, and then asked them to kneel, calling on the Maker to witness the union of the king of Ferelden and his chosen bride. Alistair and Lyra joined hands as she intoned the ancient words, and Alistair squeezed her fingers when she came to the part about caring for their children.

"Alistair Theirin, this is the bride you have chosen. Will you love her, honor her, protect her and keep her, and take no others, for as long as you both shall live?" the Revered Mother said, and Alistair nodded, his voice catching. "I will," he said.

"And you, Lyra Cousland...this is the husband you have chosen. Will you love him, honor him, protect him and keep him, and take no others, for as long as you both shall live?" the Revered Mother asked, and she squeezed his hand. "I will," she said strongly. A more heartfelt promise she had never made.

"Rise, children of the Maker, and go forth as husband and wife, king and queen, but always as man and woman in His sight," the Revered Mother said, and then her serious countenance faded, and she smiled grandly. "King Alistair... kiss your bride!"

He grinned, and swept her into his arms and kissed her, leaning her back slightly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and lost herself in his embrace, and below them the crowd cheered enthusiastically. Oghren burst into tears, and Wynne silently pressed a handkerchief into his hands. Kestrel barked delightedly, and Leliana's eyes shone with happiness. Beside her, Zevran's eyes were sparkling, and he slid his hand into Leliana's and held it gently. Sten was stoic, but he looked pleased, nonetheless.

In the rafters, a raven perched, watching silently. She didn't move, but kept her eyes on the royal couple as they finished their kiss and turned to wave to the people, who cheered all the more. She spread her wings, and flew up to an open window, winging her way out of Denerim and into the beyond, headed southwest, to the Wilds.

The future was calling.

* * *

><p><em>AN: And so comes the end of TDKS! And now, if you're still wanting more, there is a sequel - and as of this updated A/N, it's 36 chapters deep and still going! There are also other stories in the Lyraverse, such as "A Crow's Devotion", and many more in the planning. To see the complete list, check out my profile._

_Many many thanks for reading. This was my first work, and my heart and soul went into it. It means tons that you've followed it through to the end, and I hope you'll consider leaving me a review!_

_ I'm currently working (very slowly) on cleaning it up and rewriting it - you probably noticed the difference in certain title headings (those are the edited chapters). So for now, I encourage you to subscribe to this story, even though it's complete! When all the edits are done, I will be posting an "Epilogue" - most likely detailing Alistair and Lyra's wedding night. At that time, the story will also be fully edited, polished and shiny as a new penny. So I hope you'll give it another read at that time as well, so you can see all the awesome things that have been done to it. :-D_

_Many hugs and kisses, and as always, Maker's Blessing my friends!_

_xoxo Eve Hawke_

_a/n updated 5/9/13_


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